the widow

she was standing next to the open grave
her heavy shining boots in the red clay
semiotics of the sexual militarism

her arms were crossed over her chest
the thick red nail polish
was the perfect decoration of her tight black dress
boiling blood

neutral makeup
she was biting her lower lip

I didn’t see her eyes behind the fringe of her hair
(the future will come earlier than we may think)

the guests

I was visiting my friend the other day
I had a bottle of vodka in the right pocket of my coat
and a long Saturday night in my left

he told me before, that he has guests

when I entered his dining room
the guests were sitting at the table
same face
same head shape
same hat on each head
three brothers, different ages

(later, I told my friend that they’re making an impression of the guests
that will never leave)

during the dinner they were quiet
looking at me, like three owls on a twig
winking behind their glasses

(I think there was some sort of code in their winks)

at some point the guests left the room, taking an unfinished bottle of vodka with them
and the long Saturday night too

later, when I was laying in the bed I was thinking about the guests

I often try to feel the others through myself
they were sitting on a twig
arguing what three wishes they should ask me to do for them
while I was confined in the empty vodka bottle

the poster in the subway car

a college girl with dyed purple hair is sitting on the other side
of the subway car
texting, viciously texting using both hands

she doesn’t see the hipster looking guy who is sitting next to her
he is reading a book of poetry, wearing earrings and a wide rubber bracelet with the word ‘NOISE’, – white on black

at some point, she stops texting and makes a call to her mom
it is raining and she wants a pick up from the train station

the hipster guy emerges from his reading
scratches his black beard and looks around
the girl resumes texting
they don’t notice each other

on top of their heads, there is a poster
of a man, a woman and a boy between them
a man looks like this hipster guy, – black bearded with empty glass eyes
a woman, – a tall smiling blond
and the boy, average boy who likes to play on his Xbox and with his dog named Trooper

the train stops at my station

standing on the station under the drizzling rain I was thinking about
that guy and that girl
but they were smiling from the poster and me in standing between them as a boy

the puzzle

she was putting together the puzzle
from the magazine cuts
pharmacy prescriptions
and old wine bottle labels
the project of her life
was almost complete

the movie of her shooting cans from the hand gun
was projecting on the brownstone wall
no sound
just moving images
(she was happy that day)

she was slowly gluing the pieces together
the ultrasound photo of her unborn son
two Broadway show tickets
recently bought wedding gown recipe
she couldn’t recall his name
but she remembered his smile

this was her last project
before she’ll cut that barb-wire
with the engraved kisses on it
that was bandaging her heart

the heart was the last piece of the puzzle

words #1

a barrel
cold metal
but aren’t you feeling inspired?
shooting your words like the bullets

some will miss
some will probably hit

and when they hit
they’ll penetrate the mind
or will rip the heart apart

and when they miss
caring muse
will wipe the sweat from your forehead
and will reload your gun

people use tracing bullets
to talk in the night