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DRUNK
I always have to be drunk.
That's all I have - I can
the only way not to feel
the horrible burden of time,
that breaks my back and bends me to the earth,
I have to be continually drunk.
But on what?
Wine, poetry or memories?
And if sometimes,
on the steps of a building,
the green grass of a ditch,
in the mournful solitude of my room,
I wake again,
drunkenness already fading or gone,
I ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird,
the clock, everything that is flying,
everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling,
everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .
ask what time it is?
and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer :
"It is time to be drunk!
So as not to be the martyred slaves of time,
be drunk, be continually drunk!
On wine, on poetry or memories."
