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He is only doing his job
(they said about a barman
who wanted me to pay after the first pint)
of course, we all are -
a merchant is selling cedar in his cellar
with a cell phone on his side.
I am sticking my visas and
staring with my sticky green eyes
at you, behind the consulate counter
and someone else will lift a giant stamp over my head -
press me with the mercy of blood-pressure...
a soldier is only doing his job as well, even a murderer
and even a virus in the brain of a mad cow and a butcher
not much saner
better not think about it...
but that is not enough, that is tragically little
because only when you get over
the claws of your career crushing you
only then love will press you -
get over
as I stepped over
drunken poet Marko Mägi
at the party on the Dvigatel factory roof
yeah, but I did not give him a hand...
then again
I opened a visa that you have to wait three days for
to an anonymous girl right away
so that she could get away to be fondled and fondle
and laugh to Italy which is jobless