memento #15

That day you’ve entered my solitude
with your predisposition to transgress
I was trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle
of the “The Bridal Pair With the Eiffel Tower”
between some scattered urges to repent.

You asked me for a glass of wine
and to be romantic as you remembered me.

I told you to get the butter…

(afterwards I was with you)

on top of that unfinished puzzle
on top of that dusty floor
on top of those broken memories,

between some scattered urges
to repent.


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

a rigor mortis of time.

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

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,–

(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.

the inanity (part 4).


Virtual stabbing wounds
of the disoriented neurons.

The uniformity of a sound
through the whispering bravado.

Mind melt on the bun
blue rare steak a la mode.

Deteriorating time
on the moldy pancetta.

Stomping boots on the streets
whistling sound of fall.

Rustling leaves on the wall–
days go by.

Emerald eyes on the other end
of the rabbit hole
Open wooden box at its bottom.

You lay your hand on my forehead.

Non revocare potes, qui periere dies*

We spoke about many things,
but the words were sterile.

Some people on the street
where projecting their
indifference on us;

Towards us.
towards the world around.

She had cup of coffee,
I had the time,
and the past had us all.

Then all the words turned into
the rubble under our feet.

and someone asked about God.

(lat.) Lost time is never found again