an anatomy of the meatball – the dialectic of bread and butter
two sides – one reflection
and the desire is to see what is behind the curtain.

losing faith is a cause for concern.
and Freud finally met his Moses on the other side.
and Zarathustra had nothing to say

we are united by the marching step of cattle, and not by our super ego.
searching for rubies with a candle in the corners,
but find only bread crumbs.

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When the winter is over

When the winter is over, –
a spring will come, and maybe
summer at once.

You’ll ask me: “Will it always be like that?”
and I’ll answer: “No, there is nothing eternal in the Creation.
Everything once comes to an end, –
sooner or later. ”

“Fool, don’t be a smart ass as always”, – you’ll say, –
“I’m talking about spring, and you’re already buried the summer!”

sometimes

sometimes
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

rather to
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
cannot decipher

Not a day

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.

Inflamed Blitzkrieg
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.

She-said-no, –
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
not moving.