a melancholy #5

An imbalance of adrenaline and melatonin.
Circling in pairs
In the North-West direction.
She wanted a crown of pearls,
but he gave her a pot of geraniums.

They lived, yet not long enough,
probably because they didn’t post enough cat pics.
They were drawing the air, but it turned into
a raging fire, and everything around was burning
while the trees were crying aloud.

It’s hot in the city during the second half
of this summer. An asphalt is melting in tired muscles,
And you can hear the mourning of the mute alarm.
While he was looking for Nirvana in the nerves of the subway,
She found her peace in the metaphor of Hexogen.

Inside – Around

Inside:
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.

Around:
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.

a morning to work, a morning to rest

I.
– You almost pushed me off, sir! – You
shouldn’t jump while I’m already in motion,
ma’am!
Gust of the brisk air, – a slap on your face,
step out of the bus! Hurry up!
– I’m squeezing out!
A choir of pneumatic hammers, everybody
unionized! Ninth Ave, major construction
in progress. Cranes, a phallic symbol of
a working class.

A misery caged in the glass and iron. Bidirectional
truth of the smart elevators. They’ll show you
the weather and take you windows shopping.
They’ll have you being watched, there
is no real love in the elevator! Stop dreaming,
keep making love to your cup of coffee.
– I’ve noticed, she’s stealing your
looks. – Take stairs next time. Claustrophobic
kingdom of cubicles of open space. A medieval
romanticism of your office fire-drills.

A drunk homeless satyr is sleeping in his
cardboard sanctuary. Engulfing aroma of the urine,
puke and human indifference, – welcomes you to
the magical kingdom of underground. – El mariachi,
El nino, El malei rachamim¹, ELO
– Hey, watch where you’re going! NYPD,
National Guards, K9, Number 9, feeling
protected. Departures, arrivals, a purgatory.
– I can’t talk right now, here, take
a dollar. Indulge yourself in the world
to come. – Should I take an umbrella with me?

II.
Empty Bus, – rustling wheels, Williamsburg
bridge. Sunny morning, Saturday or Sabbath. – Now we’ll
wait,till bus will pass, then we’ll cross. – Okay, I will
wait, but I’m cold. A frock, shiny shoes. A walk.
Smell of barbecue by Michelle, a grog or compote. – Can
you lower your music, an idiot!? A skeleton of the fire
escape on the sidewall.
Sunny, spot occupied by a cat, frozen time, random
squint. Basketball.

He wants to get up, but doesn’t want to lose the feel
of her skin. Spinning fan, breaking sun, through the
blinds and smoke. A stolen cigarette.
He doesn’t remember last night, yesterday he was
a neanderthal, today Lt. Colonel.
– I’ll quit, I promise last drink. – Wait, till
you see me playing my guitar on the street. – Kiss me
here, kiss me there, kiss me goodbye on the cheek.
I’ll take a City Bus to the pier.

A pinup mermaid, Second Avenue, Halal street cart,
rice with meat and Guinness, – a pint. – Did you hear
about the fire? Dormant Wall street. Doves on edge
of the roofs, newspapers, birds shit. American flag,
– I’m still allowed to dream. Weather-beaten fingers
breaking matchsticks in the right pocket.
Blue jeans.


  1. a funeral prayer used by the Ashkenazi Jewish community

questions #8

a chaotic map
of roads,
sidewalks,
hidden passages,
roundabouts,
illegal U-turns,
driveways.

and the irony is,
that someone already
walked that map,
before.

and the irony is
that someone already
learned that the pain has
a different grip,
and the blood
has a different taste
in the mouth,
before.

and the irony is,
that someone already
knows what will be
in the end,
before.

but can’t show you
the right way to stop,
and tell you if it
hurts
or
not.

a full stop

Take my hand and lead me through these long isles
of human desolation;
over burning bushes and forsaken altars of pride.

Carry me over of Sulfur rivers of guilt,
while thousands of zombified adolescents
bemoaning their implanted memories of glorious past.

I traveled from Providence to Death Valley
in quest of those who knows The Meaning,
but didn’t meet any single soul occupying living bodies.

The resurrection of Lizard King was cancelled by the unions.
Prayers exfoliating in tinfoil scales
while undermined street sweepers cabaret dancing
between piles of dung.

I peeked through the gates of abandoned cities,
whispered wishes through the cracked windows.
I drank with sailors in bars of Portland Maine,
but never met Epione* sitting at the bar.

Listen to the neighbor’s radio playing Lacrimosa
while he’s frying eggs with veggie bacon.
Lay me down into the artificial womb
and feed me with milk and honey.

‘Till the spaceship will brings us all
closer to the event horizon.

Full stop.


  • In Greek mythology goddess of soothing