MARTA PETREU
Our Father
My mouth is defiled
0
my Lord sportive diseases nameless diseases of ruin
infest it
And what desolation: the wind whips through your pockets
in vain you turn them inside-out
nothing
no good tidings no new creature even approximating worth
Not even a feeble tolerance the vaunted mercy for your neighbor
Nothing
Nothing issues from your aged thighs
from your verbs
What wretchedness
I've rejected pain (glory be to chemicals
glory! they resolve moral dilemmas)
I refuse falling in love that suspect art: I smother it with a pillow
with tiny multi-colored pills
I suffocate nostalgia with a silk cord
Aha. The throbbing void the art of falling in love commits itself to a doctor's care
glory be to chemicals glory
Aha. I want the throbbing void in the center of my body not to hurt anymore
no Lord no
I have no doubt-nothing issues from your depleted thighs
from the stuttering of your lips
You
our father the mumbling one the muncher
where is your kingdom what now is your will on this earth known as marta
now and forevermore Lord
lIImamable diseases of subjugation infest it
it hurts Lord I scream Lord
no you're no Lord
amen
Translated from the Romanian
by
Adam
J.
Sorkin and Liviu Bleoca
