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Don’t need to think

Apples start to fall

and how much of the work has been done

in the veins of Earth

who has planned it all

Eons forehead

to live to die to born to live

to die to born

to live

Green veins pulsating

tearing apart from the strength and fullness

Don’ t need to think –

she said-

That everything is so easy

Sand is born

and sand is born

and stone thumps

and first frost behind the hill

however still so very close

Don’ t need to think that

writing through living

comes dull and doing the no job

’cause writing through living

is eons and eons longborn

it’s letters that pours fast

like milk

TODAY

There’s a sounds of jazz in my house

today

Trumpets are cracking the melon of water

it’s sanguine juices dissolves in an undetermined chords

Does this separate our worlds?

The bordelines of our music

the structures of our words

This labyrinth of daylight is diffused

and there is no chances of rising above it

today

They told me the sentiment is not contemporary enough

How weird

but I am living into this day

thinking my sayings my breathing

searching for that right direction from which the winds

can and will blow in my sails

i am miles away

i am Bruce Lee in his garden

peeling the oranges under that tree

who initiates me into the art of life

i am exhale in your atom

i am eternal

today

The braid

Observing the motion of two empty swings

trying to disperse the anxiety before the dusk comes

counting and recounting glittering backs in the parking lot

noticing children running behind the houses

without thinking unnecessary

only the laughter and shrieks

that’s true i wish i could become more healthier

through mine poems through mine intertwined words

and maybe i can plait those words so easily

because i have never had those long braids to weave

i have always felt like i was living

on the rejected bench

into some of the scratched rudeness on its surface like

DICK or YOU STINK

or HALLELUJA YOU HAVE AN FIR NEEDLE IN YOUR BUTT

like a microbe or a bacterium that lives there

into the perspiration of unknown asses that soaks

through soggy sportswear

hoping that one day there will be my prince

coming after me well and if not quite a prince

then a soul mate for sure

the friend

of my soul

Metamorphosis (as it is_)

Metamorphosis has begun

You are not much nor little

you are in a prolonged middle position

you last and you last

stretch from the sides to the edges

to the corners

skin starts to crack open

becoming pierceable like a balloon

involuntarily yielding for a different kind of

knobs and creatures to crawl

underneath it like under the fibrous blanket decorated with

the small labels of bamboo bushes

through you not a volunteer

life is crawling through you like a blade

double-sided

it says that’s the only way it can work

and that you’ve earned it

and that you don’t understand otherwise

(And I’ve stopped to write “like it is” how this day went

what to say to my children after the years

about this day

what stays is only this

never dated only attached to the number of year

this fabric of letters and totals that has been braided

just with the cheapest resources one could say

boxes in paper and ink from the market

But see that it’s not

at the same time the most of it costed

and have paid what it paid for

but this one of a poem

and next also

and further on till the quantum explosion

how far can my eyes see

that most expensive most direct unit

that can be listed

Not anymore

i don’t have a normal words anymore

to describe it

For this is the one in which life just like written-off

thrown out in pit at the eggs and the eggshells

that lies in the ground like in compost

and runs from the underground-like destiny

no life it like strives to reborn to loosen up

from the no-life from no-freedom

not knowing would it be able to do it

or will it waste even further of years

like in prayer and only with corner of the eye looking at the

little death of herself

with a jockey hat on his head

walking through the backyard of his

and with the secure movements of his hands

throws three handful of black earth

right at it

Here

That fulfilled Emptiness

Moments joining hands

creating something chain-like

something vastness-like

from there

to here

That gawky Emptiness

That rest between innumerable probabilities

and innumerable realities

All here together in one place Here

Here

Flew away in the looping time

Here is visiting the long tables of Gods

Here is hiding in the open field

one Man

that has lived

bare

for a years for a millions

for an insubstantially significant

moments

that has put only

one of their hand into the other

hand in the hand

in the hand

She

She

Who smells like a warm and moist

Earth

One deep opened fertile

Furrow

She

Smelling like winds and groans

Like ankles soft and sunburn

in the daylight of July

She

has cut down and given away

blossom after blossom now standing

bare skinned

hidden in the leaves

She

always have found the time to be

nearby to observe unobtrusively

that other

right here silently humming

along

always ready to clasp

in the fall

if there will be a need for

Him

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