I’ll rescind myself from further
meandering between right or wrong,
and let my consciousness
to have a tête-à-tête with my eternal
soul, while my intoxicated body will be
occupying an empty couch in the nucleus of
the void of your universal love.
a witchcraft is slowly turning into
a witch-hunt; Rangers won
and Devils lost.
Fighting social demons
by bashing gravestones.
Do you hear, – a cancer growing?
Do you hear how your exuberance is leaking
from the ventricles of days?
Inside – Around:
a self-induced consolation.
an umbilical cord
a needle on top of the syringe
just a few ways to convey
an anti-Truth serum.
an art of creation, – passe
an art of destruction, – a novelty
one good thing, – NASA had discovered planets
that might support life.
another good thing, – we’re not there yet.
some don’t know
how to lose.
how to win.
in both cases
they will eventually go to sleep
and then they will ignore their own reflection
in the bathroom mirror,
because they are too angry to look
and they will have bad dreams.
and will cry through the night.
in the morning they will be too ashamed
to look at their own reflection, again.
they’ll forget how do they look.
on the soles of your boots.
on the tips of your bayonets.
imprinted in knuckles
etched on the skin of my teeth.
a mosaic of shatteres skulls,
That old echafaud, will remember those words.
— O’ my guillotine girl, how long should I wait till you’ll show me your love?!
Like a festive meal:
a juicy piece of meat,
a knife is in the right,
and fork is in the left,
some greens and some appetite.
On your empty stomach,
and the future,
and Holy Scriptures,
and unholy lies.
a virgin-empty collective mind, —
a peace of mind!
— Fanfares and fireflies!
— In sizzling late July!
— be careful, don’t rush!
— you know, you’ll better rush and choke!
— don’t look.
— it is much better be blind nowadays.
Wrapped into napkin,
buried and forgotten.
a maggot in the dirt.
another festive meal
or fest for others.
and plate, —
just a plate
and a few drops of sauce
Captain’s log, entry #1032:
All the butterfly wings–
tattooed on the elbows and back
can’t longer lift body up.
Eyes can’t transmit happiness;
tongue, — to express dissatisfaction by tutting.
Hands can’t no longer shrug,
buttocks, — to articulate anger.
Time to get transform back into pupa.
Hasta la vista!