a melancholy #3

While the thick clouds
were raining sulk
down onto the sullen

Above the thick clouds
the cosmos was raining meteorites
in complete silence.

But nobody could see that.


étude #14

some peanuts in the right pocket.

a straw hat on my head
still hiding the cynical smile
behind mustache and beard.

no more cigarettes.
alcohol? “yes please, you can always pour me some more”.

I never carry an umbrella,
they always break
under the gusts on the West side.

there is a hole in my right sole
(the foot just got wet)

a silhouette
of your pointy breast is still stuck in my mind.

a simple bouquet,
is peeking from my leather messenger bag.

(breaking my back)

on my way back.

soon I will see an old you.

I was becoming a quite blasé
to the new me.

and you?

Good morning, Mr. Sandler

fragments of dreams are stuck to your skin,
crumbles of death on the fingertips.
rain doesn’t wash, a sentimental tosh.

and it reeks, reeks in your memories.
mouse traps, holes of Swiss cheese,
sex scenes, a girl in flipflops.

the reflection of the clouds
flushed to the drain,
pregnant skies are leaking the rain,
one more stop in the crowded train.

baseball, page six, stifled perfume,
a flirt or small-talk, elevator up, elevator down.
“I am sorry, I stepped on your foot.”

cellphone in one hand, the coffee cup in the other.
No Zero Coke, sloth.

dark stairway, dusty carpet, cement walls.
indifferent look, close circuit cam, an eyeball.
security officer is watching porn on the cellphone.

“Good morning, Mr. Sandler, have a nice day.”


a banal scene.
a car is standing on the traffic light.

the rain is running down the windshield
leaving blurred spots of the diffracted hue of red
like the screen of the space ship
from some vintage sci-fi movie.

she said, – “I want to touch the stars”.

he took her hand in his
and kissed her fingers.

the traffic light turned green.
the car sped up and left.

the rain kept penetrating night.