Monthly Archives: June 2012

The Lock

a phosphorescent barrier
a steel-plated door
a window with shut blinds
a black dog barking
a voice shouting no
another one not answering

after a long road
I stopped under a rain of knives
silence like an anesthetic
perfused in the marrow
left me so awake that I’m shivering
almost seeing my hair growing

I’m turning my head over my back
to feel the rain in my eyes
to stop this painless moment
the emptiness in my viscera
while others have their siesta
on this dead-end road

I grasp with my teeth
the rainbow arch
feeling how it breaks me
separated in the middle
between sky and earth

like a sensitive corpse
on a dissection table

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Prussian Blue

the woman in a glossy blue dress
like shining tinsel
like rear bicycle signals
is twining a hair lock
around her ring finger
keeping always her right leg
over the left one
through her lips corners
descending half circle
she’s spinning the words thinly
from a cotton candy bundle
her eyelids are asleep mostly at daytime
she sees between eyelashes
a corduroy sky
ultramarine blue

looking closer she seems silvery
like a light organ
with greasy lipstick smearing her lips
her ears stretched down by heavy ear rings
without dust traces under nails
without perfume spots on her chest
she sits alone in the armchair
in the theater hall
she sits alone at the edge of the seats row
in the middle of the audience
the actors are trampling singing and falling
she’s melting among the spectators
keeping her back straight

like an ink blotch in a glass with water
under the blue spotlight
suddenly invisible
she’s crying

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Free Verse Haiga

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The Lighthouse

The last ship abandoned me
sleeping near the lighthouse.
Yesterday’s dreams faded away
leaving my body stuck to the ground
amid bitter roots
like a rusted anchor.

I don’t want to leave these shores
where the wind is playing
a soft blues on its harp.
Stones are getting smoother each day,
half-forgotten memories
are burning on a silent pyre.

I will wait day and night
for the rose of winds
to change its direction.

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brick-colored winds blow stronger
a cretaceous era tied my ankles
to the ground
I’m raising mountains
each time my knees tremble
flint burnt from foundations

if I raise my front straight
in this bloody dust storm
crevices show up in the eye whites
in different directions
with my forefinger I cut pathways
on my temples
dusting off pink dreams plaster
from all sleepless nights

I’m still walking on tiptoes
or on my heels
I’ll never be a brick
in another forecourt
waiting for a new glacial period
to find a place in a heart
like in an igloo

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