an anatomy of the meatball – the dialectic of bread and butter
two sides – one reflection
and the desire is to see what is behind the curtain.
losing faith is a cause for concern.
and Freud finally met his Moses on the other side.
and 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, –
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!”
After a thousand strokes of
a universe will change.
There won’t be me or you anymore,
and our place will be taken
by other you and me
so similar to us,
yet not knowing the smell
of the foam in which
Aphrodite was born
And the sea will whisper –
and the sun will warm
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
but this asphalt
doesn’t remember our steps.
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
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