about the space travel

a catatonic inertia of a mundane.

a wormhole,
this link between the concience
and the intellect.

squeezing myself through this pipeline,
Lieutenant Commander Data, set the coordinates.

a heart surgeon fixing a running engine,
– add some coolant.

my moral stability,
has a destructive impact on my creativity.

once I saw you on the background of the tornado,
that riped the world apart.
once in front of the dry seabed,
covered with cracks,
the nomad’s lips.

a parralax?
I probably need a new pair of glasses
and a concierge services.

lock the door behind me,
hungry wolves are hiding
behind the neighbor’s car.