(BG)

 

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How I Write


Each morning the greenish twitter of death wakes me up,

Gushing from the garden.

The alveoli are enthralled.

An angel crosses my sore beddings.

I want to overcome the story of his college body,

But nothing else I taste in memories of us.

 


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© 2002Marin Bodakov. All rights reserved!

Translated from Bulgarian by Zornitsa Hristova © 2002. All rights reserved!


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