A hotel lobby, wide and luminous. The floor immaculately polished. The man with the heart of a crocodile Is peacefully walking by, Certain in his own choice Without a shadow of a doubt. And the hotel is in the chain of all chains, In the center of a distant city, In the east of a distant land – The land that has been feeding crocodiles With its hearts For centuries – in chains. And now, just this time, His pure intentions, Skillfully equipped with credit cards Like with the conscience of Any bureaucratic suit on the body Of any Exhibitionist in the position of an assassin, Are pacing Just ahead of him.
Knock, knock – only twice. The door’s opened slowly, And behind it, now – The look of a black eye, Utterly quiet and submissive, And that red lipstick As rabies resistant To the swearing and kissing – The anthem of all of them – in chains. “We have to be wild sometimes.” His conscience is clear while Caressing her neck with a smile. “They put shackles on the wild ones And give them drugs...” – she’s nodding seductively. “That can be arranged, youtigress filthy...” His smile is sweet and mighty. And now their poem’s beginning, Told a long time ago, And danced countless times before... Imagine a huge diplomatic suite. In one room A sumptuous waterbed, A luxuriously furnished bar and Caviar. All over the walls and carpets Dissipated by the city sounds of saxophone In the love color of a dollar – As the color of a crocodile… Almost certainly plays A Love Supreme by John Coltrane. The curtain is velvety soft. Glasses of foam, The bed is teeming, growing. The room is extending And in the water it’s swimming While in the chains Frictions are hissing... Pulsing their inwardnesses in freedom, And in slavery. Hallucinations are intersecting in the selves: Hotels, streets, conferences, faces… Squares, nooks, corners, and again – faces… Cities, beaches, states, faces… Tails, noses, jaws, beaks, faces… Blindness finally appears; Enjoyment of freedom – pleasure of slavery: One whole world in chains. And she’s applying his crocodile tail to her flanks Begging him to give her the heart of an assassin... But at his very peak in the orgasmic A Love Supreme By John Coltrane He contentedly sings to her: "Tigress in chains, The heart of a killer is not given, Nor is it purchased in a room like this one – This is only a place where the crocodile heart feeds!"