неделя, 15 март 2015 г.

the ground

what is beneath me is a pillow,
on it a warm red blanket
and a green velvet cover

there is a calm quiet feeling
i have found in my own mind
where formerly resided chaos, fear and lust
they visit me, the three ghastly brothers.
the come alone or sometimes together
but they no longer stay for long
for I am now here, fully
and I am sat, the ground firm beneath me
and the feel of soft warm velvet on my thigh.

the lake

the lake swallows me
whole never wholesome

there is a silver-threader night in black water
that exists nowhere else
and is enthralling in its silky shimmer

there are no stars underneath the water bed
yet that is the light my eyes long for most,
the pupil strangled by the iris, shadowed with remorse

here lives peace, in the cold, dead silence of words passed
and the wet feel of cold feverish sweat

where weeds clutch the throat,
      and the throat croaks a prayer
             and the prayer dies
                    for no sound and no air lives under the indigo surface of the lake.

понеделник, 23 февруари 2015 г.

вторник, 6 януари 2015 г.


you are a world
   within a world
      within a world.


in fact,
perfection bows to you.

you are Creation amongst a trillion starborn gods in the drizzling rain of universal nonlife.

your name is Genesis,

      from you
   burst out
all days

      the infinite world
   which you are in
is your creation.

неделя, 4 януари 2015 г.



the v between my thighs
originates from the
sweaty little v
at the top of your upper lip

the v in vagina is the same
as the v in vino


before he erupted in
torrents of mad
rage, anger, fire and ash

v is the most beautiful letter
it exists in a perfect shape
a descent into the Marian Trench
of my slippery mind.


pretend to be french
pretentious is great

french kissing is not enough

french wine does not taste
as french as it could
unless you drink it
with a death wish in the other hand

pretend to be Marlon Brando
Bridgitte Bardo is good as well

ART will never go out of date

you are not smart
unless you can seem to like Zizek
although you’re not sure
if he’s Slovak or Sloven


we lost our bohem princes a long time ago

they died
when absinthe was banned
bohemia dies

as soon as it obeys


i have discovered silence with you

i have discovered myself without you

writing came back to me
i thought you brought it
but it came back
on its own accord

not because you
made my head swell with words

but because I
have unearthed the world

it was buried
underneath you
below your scowl
above your smirk
before you came
and after you have gone

i thought you were a key
to a chamber

you were the chamber whilst the key
were I

the real true meaning
of a world with
six billion humans
is not

to find one human to share silences with

but to share the silence of the world with the one human self