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.

a salamander’s dream

​rummaging in the warren of my consciousness,

searching for an ore-like-inclusions
into the fabric of time
for some recollection
of how it was when I still could grasp the meaning of pain.
… a thrist
… a rage
… a ravaging tide of phantom emotions
(I forgot how to breath under the water)

I’m the sadomasochistic axolotl of my own deceit, —
cutting myself: a piece, after a piece;
then swallowing those pieces,
listening to the hissing of a gastric acid.

yet they regenerate in a jiff.

… and so on
and nobody can’t stop this cannibalistic paraphernalia.

all the memories are only a multiplication of the same recollection of an untangled
chromosome.

a rigor mortis of time.

and all the cracks on my lips, —
are matching your scars.

disillusioned

Sudden awareness of the reality, —
a pain of remorse.
Of an unconventional amorality, —
for better or worse.

In the night I’ll crawl into your kitchen
and drink all your wine and absinthe.
afterwards I’ll whisper my poems
into the keyhole of your boudoir.

I will posses your body,–
while your psyche is counting sheep.
hushaby, mon amour, don’t resist,–
this morning, an agony will become real.

You heard about pleasures of Heaven
or a suffering in Hell,
but for the soul without body
that doesn’t mean anything…

a thunderstorm

​That was only a lightning in the nightly sky, —
a coronary map of your fears.

a taste of ozone,
crumbs of peanut butter firecrackers.

a golden dragon,
a red dragon.

You see them every time you close your eyes:
they always appear with loud tambourine and beats of the cymbals;
nimble fingers crowned with long nails
and hissing scales.

Frowning, frowning!
and gazing at you with their
bulging unwinking eyes!

Clang! Clang! Ding!

Just count these moments till the thunder reaches the ground!

one… two… three… will I ever be free?

an offence

Today I offended a man.

I was watching him for a while:
He was personally attacking others,
being noisy and rude;
but I was waiting.

(one woman cried)

I was a predator,–
waiting.

(I heard his psychotic laugh)

a Satyr dancing in the dirt, drunk from his mockery;
but I was still waiting.

Today I offended the man.

I asked him about a photograph of him posing with an aiming not-loaded gun:
“Don’t you think this photograph is an expression of your microscopic libido,
and the rifle is a projection of your penis?”

I knew, he was hurt.
I knew he was miserable,
and I knew the reasons to his misery.

He asked me, if I was in the army,
and I said I was, and I don’t wish him the memories I bear.

(and I heard the bullets ricocheting from the rocks around)

He was hurt,
but I was squeezing my jaws harder.

(one woman giggled)

I felt the blood pumping through his veins,
and it was hot,
yet I was cold.

He tried to bite me,
yet, I didn’t let him go.

once I was like him:
when I felt useless even to myself,
when I felt thrown over the fence of society, by the fears of my own stereotypes,
or when I wanted to be,
but nobody wanted me to be.
when I was taught,
for the sake of being taught.

O, I know how does it hurt!

but I was squeezing my jaws, till he stopped breathing.

(a flatline)

Today I offended a man.

Later he was still laughing,
but he was already dead.

So am I.