On Seven train platform is quiet.
On Seven train platform everything remains without change.
On Seven train platform a homeless man in red jacket
is sleeping on a bench in twisted pose.
On Seven train platform is empty.
On Seven train platform time stopped.
On Seven train platform a robot woman is announcing weather.
On Seven train platform you don’t feel any pain.
On Seven train platform you can’t see the sky.
On Seven train platform is only allowed to wait,
but with your mouth shut.
To Seven train platform a train never comes.
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.
- In Greek mythology goddess of soothing
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
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 broken collar bone
an explosive laughter
that colors night with
of many dying stars.
A phantom craving,
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.
we tend to maintain our
stable growth in:
all they need