If I should die tonight, God,
let me pass away
between the Rene and the Estella
with my body at the bottom
between a box of bubble gum
and a ballpen that wouldn’t write.
If the thief should come tonight
and find me like a dried fish in my bed,
without pajamas, God, my friend,
make it midnight, make it gentle.
One last glimpse at the blind beggar
outside the walls of the old cathedral
where we used to urinate is all I ask.
Only, leave the Amper like a wallet full
of the coins of my anguish for my friends
and for the girl in Floor Ten
who is dying of Typhoid Fever.
If you should want my soul at the station
tonight, God; he would meet you
with the bottom of his trousers darned.
I lost my suitcase to the first girl
I meet along the way;
but if I were to have another,
I would lose it just the same
to the second or the third girl.
God, my friend, my armpits
smell of so much memories.
