A pug

I am standing on the porch
Smoking my pipe
There is a pug, standing on the street
and looking at me
“Hello pug” – I am waiving him, – “how do you do?”
But he is standing and staring at me
With his sad round eyes
I am releasing a few swirls of smoke from my mouth
They quickly dissolve in the clear brisk air
He looks like shrunk space caterpillar
on thin legs
“Why are you so sad, pug? I can’t be your Valentine, or your fiance”
But he’s looking at me, without moving
I don’t know what is he thinking, or how does he see me through his sad round eyes
He’s owner gently pulls his leash
He follows him, on his thin legs
I stay, with swirling smoke around me.


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.

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.