Poems
***
no one except the ground
knows how tired trams say goodbye
to each other
***
a hungry belly
gives birth to a rifle
***
The sky is moving
The ant's gaze falls into the suggestion of life
Failure of life after adulthood
Older children are moving into the abyss
The abyss from which it all began
The iron tooth of a smile haunts the blind
The ash sketch of a heart beats like a real one
Who fell into whose life at that moment when a billion natural coincidences came together?
Gender, age, physical (etc...) contingencies of thought over the abyss of existence
Examination of immediacy, a patch of eyes, a rush of touch
And overhead the sky is in continuous motion
Reprint by WordCity Literary Journal
***
Handsome boy playing games
Here will be a checkpoint of childhood
Here will be parting with illusions
There will be grass of hearts
There will be a teddy bear like das tod
Women's hands do not bake bread for him
A lover or mistress will not make him happy
A boy is playing a game of war in a game of disappearance
Reprint by WordCity Literary Journal
***
Restoration of the sand from which we molded the largest palace
The last moment before parting
Bergmanian is leaning against the blue sky
Peonies of views became a dream of tired palms
And above the heads of the trees appears the trunk of antiquity
Thus begins the wild sunset of the little hearty sun
Reprint by WordCity Literary Journal
***
grapes ripen
pupils (eyes) learn
to recall the past
Reprint by Ranger magazine
***
Аgony
АgonyАgony
АgonyАgonyАgony
АgonyАgonyАgonyАgony
АgonyАgonyАgonyАgonyАgony
АgonyАgonyАgonyАgonyАgonyAgony
Аnd then the skin turns to dust like jesus never existed
Reprint by Ranger magazine
***
eating pudding
is the same
as what one
can do
іn an unknown war
.?!+=[]<<€£¥$₽*%
(but it's free)
***
Green multi-meaning people
The last viola adjacent to the heart of the air coffin
Someone was knocking on the door of every house that night
Everyone was knocking on the door of some house that night
In order to light a candle of hope in the window
Forever
Reprint by Slant
***
Everyone likes you so much that it feels like you're dying
Wild dog masks instead of faces and their own bones are gnawed for dinner
Dog masks of tenderness insomnia of honor
How often are wars called just?
How often do we fight for our own love?
Reprint by Slant
***
Smile to the hidden camera
The gas chambers are the tuning forks of death
The art of escaping in time
The art of being invisible
Inexorable time: instead of a walk in the parks, I end up on a photo session of police surveillance cameras
Reprint by Slant
***
Constitution of meaning
The existence of life for the sake of the existence of the grave
Beyond the grave —
Nothing from which
Everything began
Reprint by Slant
***
Dancing in the silence
The silence of the movements
Is inevitable
A shovel digs out the plague
Reprint by Slant
***
Red triangles pop up in front of my eyes
A bird graveyard grows under the bed
What message is carefully carried like a twig in the beak of a bird?
How many cemeteries would it take to justify all the wars in the world?
***
The sea is like grief
We are all rowers
We are all drowners
Water counts its quantity
We are all counted
We are all (united?) units
We floated up from the bottom to start drowning
***
The tree plays with its branches
The tree plays with other people's children
The tree becomes a home for the birds
Can a person become a home for someone?
***
A dog walks in the woods just to be a dog
Grass asking ass about shit
And glass of silence is woven into the conversation
Nobody picks up after a dog that doesn't have an owner
Grass doesn't care
The grass can take anything
The dog wants to die
Вut won't
***
1
I leave the black room and see the night
There are no butterflies visible outside or inside the stomach
Only black figures surround everything around
The cold dissolves after turning on the heater
[That's what I call the sun now]
I haven't seen the sun for a long time
And my grandmother will never see anything again
2
I have a few hours left before the apartment doors are locked. Outside.
3
Nobody will come
Nobody's coming back
Nobody will rise again
There's not enough air for anyone
No one has enough love
4
The glass against which the bird is pressed is silent
I conduct the notes of silence
The grass warmed by silence grows
Music turns into vapor
5
Oak trees say nothing at night
However, just like during the day
My hands are overgrown with leaves
I'm full of humility
Reprint by Ice floe press
Dead daughter
What would I say to my daughter when war broke out?
Perhaps people are animals, but with the difference that people kill even when they are not hungry. Why kill a man if you can't eat his meat?
Perhaps I would have told my daughter that she is an adult and must form her own attitude toward what is going on.
Perhaps I could tell the world history of wars, if history were not a whore.
Perhaps I would have tried to explain scientifically what was going on.
Perhaps I would have said that over the course of thousands of years the human brain has degenerated and shrunk in size faster than it had previously grown in size for hundreds of thousands of years.
Perhaps I would be silent.
Perhaps I would have taken a piece of paper and drawn a human being in the shape of a bird. Surely, I would have drawn a cage for the bird.
Perhaps I would have bought a dummy gun at the market and pointed it at my own daughter to explain what is exploding outside the window.
Perhaps I would run away from home so I wouldn't have to look for my daughter to explain the inexplicable.
Perhaps I would have said: "It's okay, nothing's going on."
Perhaps I would be silent again. Or screamed. Or cried.
Perhaps I would have scraped a crushed ant off my shoe and shown it to my daughter.
Maybe I would apologize to all the children of the world for being a fucked-up adult.
Perhaps I would have torn all the toy soldiers' limbs off for clarity and honesty.
Perhaps I would have died.
Perhaps I would have told my daughter that there is nothing after death.
Perhaps I would have drank myself to death.
Perhaps I would have shown my daughter all the war movies of the world so that she would take a stand on her own.
Perhaps I would have written my daughter an e-mail explaining what was going on.
Perhaps I would have torn apart all the children's toys so that my daughter would finally understand what war is all about.
I didn't say anything to my daughter when the war started.
Because I don't and never did have a daughter: I only have the war outside my window.
Reprint by The Wise Owl
