Odlomak

II

With the first opening, sun clustering like an

Old street rocks, paling yet good for going away

Am I brave enough?

By stubborn rule of my sensitive soul and pussy

Leaves are never falling on me

No danger or need to

Stop and feel this occupied measurements-

Love is bringing points in a

Semi life proposals.

Isn’t that funny

In the clinched parts of my arms

There is eternity until the morning-

Peter was a nice boy

Peter was a prince of deserted Warsaw rivers

So by nature I was doomed not to give him what he wanted

I will not kill myself in you, I will not kill myself at all.

No religion or taste of blood

No- I will forever be this sight, and more

No  more strong beliefs of special connections that will turn out fine

No connections-

The city was making revolution against me

And all the parks were shrinking in shadows of

Long, centrally positioned sun

I deserved it, we all did-

The babies were asking for fathers

They were about 30

Well, father is lost in the war we are sorry

But you have to realize and comprehend

Realize and comprehend

Am I brave enough

For lined spaces that will bring me to

Open sea, vine and tea in the summerhouses

Belonging everywhere, just a bit lost?

She is losing her language

The city whispered in vane, occupied with

Well built families fucked by teachers of history

She is in the middle of transition to be a

Good person:

Like Peter

Peter was a good boy

Ready for everything but, oh gods

Dumped in the Sheol with no regrets

In the clinched parts of my arms

There is something to be understood

But its spring and

We have to be happy

Everything seems to be so wide and open, woe

There is no time, no time at all

III

So the moon was crunching  flowers

And I realized that Deny was a violent man.

Like a raphinae, he always walked carefully,

Ate a lot, slept like a murder, fucked in the ass

Was I too self protective when sensing a mirror reflecting

between us

In the neo bed

Just a play made of strong, unshaped lights

And sentence once made to make him mad

About this poem and eastern european male names

Bad cars, strong karmas and things never to be understood

Was I good in making plans

Procreating lover on a thigh

Expecting not to care about freedom and

Did I survive?

(It doesn’t matter that you don’t know who is

Shostakovich

Shoulders can be considerably wider than a soul)

And did you grow even more since I left?

Mostly permanent, this words strangled with a sweat of

Debt-high celling rooms of poor buildings

And I realize.

What is rising with leavings is a bit mythological

A bit funny.