ArchivesSite MapSubmitOur GangContact UsHot Sites
1983-2015
tearing the rag off the bush again
The Barbarians PDF E-mail


Always, Everything





1. trendy nights

even the nights follow the fashion trend.
they have become merely days
with a liver sickness. simple days.
everyday days when only
the light is slightly more yellow.
now we can sleep undisturbed.
everybody knows that hepatitis gets out
from ourselves much easier
than the darkness.

3. the child is crying in the rain

the Turkish beggar child
is professionally crying, and I don’t
realize it. he cries
his heart out, without tears.
his cry is poor.
his cry is bald.
the child’s cry is old,
like the last rain
through which the sky breathes its last.
but I don’t realize this
and I continue to give him
money until
his eyes start
pouring coins.

4. through the peephole

I hear steps in the hallway.
the dog barks at the door.
I get up from the tv,
I look through the peephole
and I see my mother coming
pregnant with nobody,
eating pear seeds.

5. I won’t forget you

now my mother gives birth to a casket
of lacquered wood, freshly
nailed shut, an arrogant casket,
full of myself, full of flowers
and wreaths decorated with
ribbons written
in black: I will never
forget you, mother.

6. her own god

her own god is the kindest
and the best listener in the world.
he doesn’t waste nights
he doesn’t drink or smoke,
he is never late for work,
he is a serious, sensible god
who knows what he wants in life.
her own god is the kindest
and the best listener in the world.
the most serious one.
nothing to reproach him.
he is an efficient god
that makes all her wishes
come true.

10. and I took

she told me if I take drugs
one more time
she leaves me,
if you take just one more time
this shit I leave you,
I can’t live with you like this,
she said,
and I took.



the statue of liberty

we kneel and we ask
for forgiveness. we weep.
we wash its feet with
our tears
we make promises
that we will keep,
knowing it will remain still
without us even looking up.



on the wrong side of the road at dream speed

first, only a perfect butterfly
flies back to become a moth.
you feel it in your stomach while dreaming
and you forget of the sleeping body
with its wide open mouth
into which the moths fly
pouring from
the broken mattress.



the strength of the leaves

finally, the leaves separate their fingers
and open wide stretching their palms.
billions of small fists now crush the light.
only when the fist opens
I see you next to me and I am planning
to teach all of them to give up
boxing and to sleep at night
with their palms wide open.



 
< Prev   Next >