a hand-to-hand fighting

she’s a bayonet of the hole
in the chest

of the last scream of the bones
and the hiss of the punctured lung

a bayonet of the frightened words,
bitten lips

a bayonet of a tongue, buried in the tomb
of the mouth

a bayonet of the gushing words
onto indifferent sand of the time

a finger that numb on the trigger

a bayonet, because it is already
too close to shoot.

a bayonet, because it is too far to fear.

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the contemplation #4

I hear the murmur of your heart
broadcasting the story of your life
on the medium wave radio frequency,
while you’re hiding your face behind
the wooden Noh mask of your daily fatigue.
you wanted to become a noun,
but the adjectives are still
oozing down your neck ruining
your severe suit.
mind closing the door? the gusts
may blow out my meditation candle.

a day off

on outskirts of the asphodel field
there is a bolder,
a throne, – just for one day.

today, I will not roll the rock up the hill.
today is my day off!

I will sit, stretching my feet,
drinking red wine, enjoying some smoke.
I’ll flirt with the bodiless maids,
tease the genderless guards at the gates,
make angry the three headed beast.

I’ll jump naked into the Styx
from the sharp cliff
and stealthily shake the boat with arriving new souls.

then I will sleep.

today, I will not roll the rock up the hill.
today is my day off!


smooth surface is under my palms.
they say stone can not be soaked in tears.

love #4

I gave her all the reasons to believe,
that the wine she drinks, – is just a wine
and there is no need in a reason
to get drunk if she wants to.

That the love is when the consciousness
is irrelevant, yet the heart wants the music and colored ribbons.

Until the nice lady approached at the terminal
and sold you some religious books,
“five in a price of a one”.