Forty Martyrs of Sebaste

in front of the church’s door you can see many
candles lit for the departed ones
I push my troubles with my thumb/ I don’t press the old doorknob
because here you can find only pigeons on this asphalt smeared with wax
as if in the front of a cathedral
cheeky pigeons with green necklaces upon their neck
mating pan-sexually on cobblestone over dead and alive
you can hear the vibrato in the call of the male like a cello out of tune

the maid of the teacher from ‘the lesson’ by Ionesco thinks
about the bark of the dog killed by Pavlov/ about Freud using cocaine
while studying the notion of libido/ about Zimbardo’s experiment stopped
apparently when his fiancée and future wife requested this

and those black effigies that you can see in front of opera houses
or athaeneums or universities
and the gray statues in the central park standing above lovers
sitting on benches and kissing in front of spectators
the gray pigeons/ the black pigeons/ and the white pigeon in the middle
faust redivivus
the acrobat soldiers hired temporarily at the cirque du soleil
the tenacious missionaries and the salvation army
the military parades under the same triumphal arches
the old tricksters standing straight with blue-blooded dogs at their feet
almost barking / pay respect for the dead buried by all the mothers
in this world/ because at least they are no more humans entirely

at the book fair someone sells the scent of old books in new editions
the blood analysis samples from the clinic
the lonely woman’s pot full of sweet porridge
at the ground floor of the tower-block of apartments

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Categories: My poems in 2016, Uncategorized | Tags: | Leave a comment

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