it seems that time has stopped
or just got sick to tick and tock
and thereafter you don’t want to
be someone or be for someone else
nor have a smoke
nor have a drink
become just another face in subway car
or a window in the night of some cheap motel
a long forgotten thought in someone else’s head
or laugh at someone else’s merriment
or a pile of letters cut out from some newspapers that
even God Himself
Not a day without news and a change of color,
as a cartridge after a cartridge
in the barrel of machine-gun turns
out of the verbal participles.
in swollen veins
on the back of palms.
Outside the window is hanging
electric moon, on the sweaty mirror –
a look – like a forgotten word.
he said yes,
and then – like trains on a stretch.
It will hurt and will pass,
although, – sometime it will remind
a Raven’s Eye
pupil to the pupil, –
on the edge
three hours was not enough
to save the silence
inside cold concrete
to cling to the wall
to pour out sand into the sea
to clench conscience in one’s fist
to hide one’s temple behind a vein
salt is itching in the skin of a palm
the lines of life have gone astray
if you did not find the master
you won’t find any slaves
life from troubles to turmoil
is measured by rusty scales
why do we need minutes
if we don’t keep the count of time
On the Seven train platform is quiet.
On the Seven train platform everything remains without change.
On the Seven train platform a homeless man in red jacket
is sleeping on a bench in twisted pose.
On the Seven train platform is empty.
On the Seven train platform time stopped.
On the Seven train platform a robot woman is announcing weather.
On the Seven train platform you don’t feel any pain.
On the Seven train platform you can’t see the sky.
On the Seven train platform is only allowed to wait,
but with your mouth shut.
To the Seven train platform a train never comes.
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. 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.