an anatomy of a meatball – a dialectics of bread and butter
two sides – one reflection
and the desire is to see what is behind the curtain.

losing faith is the cause for a slught concern.
and Freud finally did meet his Moses on the other side.
while Zarathustra had nothing to say

we are united by the marching step of cattle, and not by our super ego.
searching for rubies with a candle in the corners,
but find only bread crumbs.

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When the winter is over

When the winter is over, –
a spring will come, and maybe
summer at once.

You’ll ask me: “Will it always be like that?”
and I’ll answer: “No, there is nothing eternal in the Creation.
Everything once comes to an end, –
sooner or later. ”

“Fool, don’t be a smart ass as always”, – you’ll say, –
“I’m talking about spring, and you’re already buried the summer!”

asphalt, Park Avenue
dry leaves, cigarette butts
under the feet
migraines – outlook

liquidity of light
entrance to the metro
an urge for a drink
metallic voice ‘s piercing the air
and the direction is love

Union Square – pigeons are the same,
maybe too gray
neckties are drifting aside,
sound of many heels

we used to stroll
here, darling
but this asphalt
doesn’t remember our steps.

sometimes

sometimes
it seems that time has stopped
or just got sick to tick and tock
and thereafter you don’t want to
be someone or be for someone else
nor have a smoke
nor have a drink

rather to
become just another face in subway car
or a window in the night of some cheap motel
a long forgotten thought in someone else’s head
or laugh at someone else’s merriment

or a pile of letters cut out from some newspapers that
even God Himself
cannot decipher