The cannibalistic axolotl

I knew a girl,
she wanted to lick everything she liked,
everything she wanted to behold if
she couldn’t reach a full mental grasp of it
using other senses.

I knew a man,
he ate his dreams, while he was asleep.
Once, he became so hungry
so he ate his soul;
and at the dawn of next morning
he died.

The cannibalistic axolotl
is a king of the night.

He knows everything in the world,
because he remembers the taste.

He knows when you need his experience,
but comes only to destroy
your paragons of virtue.


Roused to lie down and watch the ceiling

A broken collar bone
monochromatic minaret
an explosive laughter
a toothpick.

Pulsating pain
that colors night with
anxious splashes
of many dying stars.

A phantom craving,
for misdeed.
A wanton burning
on the skin.

And as you crawl into the shell
of ancient skull.
in a squirm of fear,
of ‘our lady’ twisted beak of lust.

That will extract your soul,
from your disintegrating body, –
a blind hungry maggot
that just learned it all.

the inanity (part #6)

a vision of the delirious sprockets operator:
Alice falling down the rabbit hole;
raining girls,
raining paratroopers,
buttons of the various colors,
burning candles falling in slo-mo.

throbbing cavities, —
inevitable coital incontinence.


violating geometry of your soul.
a second hand nightmares for sale:
“one for the price of all”.

“did you ever loved us?”

“What difference does it make now?!”

I cover myself with an old blanket,
with a picture of Hanna Montana reading Pravda.

(end of the reel)


The secret semiotics of pain
is sacredly meaningless.

Greed turned into the creed.
Past into the lust.

Guns can’t throw up a war,
but the soldiers are sleeping
a baby-sleep
in coagulated blood,
or maybe vomit.

Some Harlequin is selling
bags of fatigue–
two for the price of one.

He might be our next president
or might not.

The light was savaged by marauding dogs
and the tunnel is filled up with the sludge
to the top.

Don’t shake the boat–
I can’t walk straight!

a silent poem

I can create silence
on paper.

I will write a poem,–
a small silent poem.

I will call it “a silence”
and use a few silent words
to write it.

Words will lay on the paper–
in silence.
They’ll look up at the serene sky
and clouds.

And you won’t hear not a single word
coming out…
……………………………… silence!

Later, you will take this poem
and read it

……………………………… loud!