no feelings

an introverted morning
a lukewarm coffee
I’m on the bus
you’re waiting

an airport
just quickly passing
meet me at the terminal
we’ll watch departing airplanes together
our minds
are also departing
in opposite directions
no hard feelings
no hard feelings

a therapy for losers
a monotonic skyline
of the City

a maculated night
a barren morning
I’m aimlessly fumbling in my pockets
you’re looking at the oversized baby
on the poster

no hard feelings
no hard feelings

no feelings

domestic misdemeanors

Egg trays
toothbrushes
latex gloves
musical condoms and postcards
soiled diapers
Planck’s constant.

She likes her neighbor next door, –
his canary likes her pussycat.

Kitchen cabinets
fire escape ladders
toilet orchestras
and bathtub operas.

“Our elevator doesn’t make any stops at the Purgatory”

new revolutions, –
same old regimes.

Same good old dead comrades, –
they fought for peace
and it peacefully disposed’em.

“All they needed was love”.

Cockroaches
squirrels
mouse droppings
a cotton candy
a strawberry dish soap.

I love you, – you love me,
I need a new rubber duck,
because the old one has moldy odor,
and hers needs a battery replaced.

Sticky-notes secrets
domestic misdemeanors.

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 murmuration

enough said.

there is no need to hold my hands in yours, —
they don’t radiate any heat anymore;
and love of your fingers has leaked to the soil
while love of your heart denied the toil.

enough said.

time to reattach the wings.
the attic of your memories is full of eggshells
and dry feces,
nevertheless the nest was always empty.

enough said.

our words have turned into the countless birds.
countless birds into the chaotic flocks.
flocks, — heading North.
they don’t care about those who have fallen asleep.

I’m not your fire-bird,
not even a singing canary,
you’re not my golden cage,
not any longer.

time to reattach the wings.
the Big Flood is coming.

enough said.