Roberto Bolano - Spanish Poetry

Roadster - Bolido



The black automobile vanishes
around the curve of being.  I
appear on the esplanade:
everyone will die, says the old guy
leaning against the facade.
Stop telling me stories:
my path is the path
of snow, not of seeming
taller, handsomer, better.
Beltran Morales died,
or so they say,
Juan Luis Martinez died,
Rodrigo Lira killed himself.
Phili K. Dick died
and now we only need
what is strictly necessary.
Come, slip into my bed.
Let's caress all through the night
of being and its black car.


trns. by Laura Healy 

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