all of her lovers

all of her lovers
came from the same can of sardines
all had the same obscure look in their eyes
all smooth, greased no facial or body hair
tall brunettes

this is how I like them
(she said, while winding her heavy cuckoo clock)
I don’t like changes, I want stability
there must be an order in life

it would have been another boring life to talk about
until one evening she decided to try Fugu

when all of her lovers came to the cemetery
cemetery started to look a lot like
Fulton Fish market at its best

another soldier

no, it was another soldier who made that shot
you didn’t see his face, just a figure with a rifle
behind that wall, then your heard the shot

no, it was another soldier who made that shot
bullet is stupid, it flies fast and doesn’t have any sentiments
it sliced the air, then your skin, then your flesh, crushing bones

no, it was another soldier who made that shot
surprised, the falling was so slow
hush, I know what you saw, everybody see this
no, there will be no more pain

no, it was another soldier who made that shot
I came here to take your to the next level
do you hear the music from the Mario?

no, it was another soldier who made that shot
him you will meet tomorrow

the day of the broken umbrellas

2013-03-12 16.01.54

when you leave your artificial perception behind
and then, you step outside into the boundaries
of the urban perspective
but the sensation of your false liberation
is burdening every pocket

when the rheumatic pain is echoing
in every bone or joint of your wet outlook
and the morning newspaper bare the scars
of your neighbors eyes
only then you realize that today
is the day of the broken umbrellas

the vending machine

no more, no more dreams
the vending machine of the dreams is broken
I gave out all my coins to the homeless man

I’m lying on my bed
looking at the spinning fan on my ceilings
picturing your face
made of neon tubes of yellow and red
your eyes are flickering
you red lips are moving in the cartoon’ish slow motion
that neon sound…

what are you doing in this old diner? I asked
I serve coffee, people drink coffee
and never fall asleep anymore
they stay here forever

the vending machine of the dreams is broken
Hypnos quit over disagreement with the union

she served me a cup
Aergia was her name

the old trunk

look, he said, these are my childhood memories
I just found them, in some old dusty trunk
which was completely forgotten on the attic

there are old cracked photographs
dry leaves between the pages
of the big book of tales
a wooden train
a paper plane
a dozen of marbles
a letter from my first sweetheart
my mother’s perfume bottle
my father’s pen

he found this trunk just on time
right after the people got back home from his burial