an ode to the approaching snow storm

I think, I’d get another bottle of booze
before the storm will hit the Northeast
this weekend.

I know, the weathermen are no longer a threat,
but socialism is becoming a trend.

I’ll drink a shot or two to a sinking ruble and Mr. Pu.

To the republicans and democrats, which are struggling
to nominate some worthy candidates.

To Oscar, DiCaprio and the affirmative action plan,
and to the refugee crisis in EU.

To guns, terrorism and the war against terrorism.
To the southern border and to the long burning Middle East.

To the fanatics and atheists, to the human and to the animal rights activists.

but most of all I’ll drink to my kids, who will be playing with snow
in my backyard.

Let it snow.


Weathermen – also known as Weathermen and later the Weather Underground Organization, was an American organization that carried out a series of bombings, jailbreaks, and riots from 1969 through the 1970s.

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étude #18

naphthalene of the skin
and a formaldehyde of the smile.

etched on image,
that appears every when I close my eyes.

smell of a peppermint mead,
meditating over the airplane traffic.

“I never wanted to be a hunter,
yet I was a soldier”.

“this is not a mantra, – okay, now it is gone”.

you’re holding the dry leaf,
twitching and threshing it between your fingers.

“are you cold?”

“here is my scarf.”

the bees are preparing for the hibernation;
leaving clover fields unattended,
somewhat earlier this year.

“no, these are not the stars,
these are lights of the Big City you see.”

“don’t worry the river won’t carry’em away to the Ocean”

a compote / a Monday morning

I saw the City in the morning
blending with the fog.

first the sun, then rooftops,
then the man that walking
haughty with his dog.

a stray cat, a policeman and a laughing prostitute.
the windows with the people peeking
then the fog ate dirt

from the noisy streets, next was the bus stop,
then the yellow cab, a newsstand,
the girl with rainbow lollipop.

everything was melding inside enormous pot
then you came and ate this anomalous compote.

the weather man

you shouldn’t trust his tongue,
babe, –
he is the weather man.

you shouldn’t trust your ears,
babe, –
when you hear him talking.

don’t forget your umbrella, –
he lied about the rain.

don’t forget your sunscreen, –
he lied about the heat.

he will make you wet,
and he will make you dry,
he is getting paid
for all his lies.

he talks about tsunami
and spreads the fear about
the the storms.

he knew about the Flood, babe,
but didn’t say a word.

he also knew about the iceberg,
that sank the boat.

he controls the traffic,
he controls the mood
he control your desires
by the color of his suit.

just don’t trust his tongue, babe
and don’t look into his eyes.

he is a weather man.
weather man, O’ yeah!

the sleet

the salt of the earth
yesterday’s snow
the sleet
the sleet is ruling the streets
the sleet is corroding my soul
I was waiting for the sun
but the sun got the cold feet
and didn’t come

the tired people fleet
like the anxious dreams
the monotonous clock tic
on the news talk about the storm and the Super Bowl

I can’t watch no more
this boring bullshit
I will wait for the sun to come
despise the fact
that the weather is a deceptive bitch