the wax doll mirrored herself in a puddle
she felt a scent of moist earth
upon her barren belly trees were blossoming
full of wild bees

after the magician’s performance she raised on tiptoes
dancing with her arms over her head
for life and for death
she kept the moonrise in the palms of her hands
and the song like a dagger between her teeth
she melted gradually
through her naked breast through her naked body
other swords passing
colder and colder
****** icicles growing in her heart

the real woman lay down in the grass
with a white butterfly sleeping on her *****
like a sailboat over the sea
she did not know
how much she resembled her wax replica
same little mermaid dancing all night long
piano fortepiano
al fine

i won’t forget the times when i made roundish letters
in blue-black ink
as if i were crushing blackberry beads
perfumed and wild
and in the eyes of that man by chance
it was always the same toulouse-lautrec painting
with my watery blue dress
like a cloud in an armchair the color of rose petals
frozen rotted in november
with his checkered hat thrown
accidentally over my raincoat
i wondered too much
why he squeezed the whole sun between his teeth
while laughing
i continued to write about the dreams
like white dead pigeons
my lord
with the heart shielded between wings

when I fell in love I pressed my heels against the sky
as if in a bread oven
sitting with my forehead on the warm ground
and the wind and the butterflies and the clouds like smoke
were hard to be spoken they stuck inside my chest

without even knowing
I invented God in a new season of the year
believing it was the same
through days with sun and moon both white
because of heavy blessing it rained with sweet incense
clocks lagged behind from their minute hands
gooseberries and  red currants popped between my nails
milk teeth grew in my ****** *****
with the name sculpted by man lips

I slept another one’s dream in a stranger’s bed
he looked at me on Sundays through the train window
he saw through me
from our century of loneliness only dust flew over
like from an old Bible leaves

you waited too much
about thirty years before you can say jack robinson
cheops kephren mikerynus
otherwise life like a water under the desert
always played tricks on you
pushed you hunchbacked inside caverns
where everything drips and leaves a small hole
everything yells
tears or laughter tear off  the flesh
they’re forbidden since the world began
they declare you are subhuman
because so many still cry with their eyes closed
you are just a riddled dummy
the more you scream the more you unwind
there’s no place for you at the charity soup feast
you don’t understand why
everyone is something because you are nothing
you have no bright star left
as a proof
amid the stubs from yesterday’s garbage
you still smell good still wash yourself with soap
children still play with marbles
hitting the wall against which you lean
tentatively

because of too many nightmares I’m visited by the dead
those familiar persons with ordinary words
with hobbies and bad habits
so homy /
we ride together on the horse or in the small car
we fall asleep in the bed from the doll’s house furniture

it’s too ridiculous / I am too old
to wear a dandelion flower on my chest
as a mourning sign for the sun of my childhood
when I gathered in my hands small hearts from shepherd’s purse weeds
to grow roots in another place eventually

since I have wandered on the straight road
I hide under my softly lined coat
my arms tattooed by lightnings still lively
my blood dripping in the dust
sticking like scabies onto my shoe soles // I am ashamed
to take off my shoes to follow the shortcut

the gate has moved altogether with its pillars
on the other side of the road /
I tighten my fist under the sleeve
I bend my knees and crouch
near the deserted well with the cry of a white lamb
whiter and whiter

I feel sick of too much crying
because of too much love for people and life
I cried in every corner that was allowed to me
on the iron poker near the cold fireplace
on the brown bread slice
inside the cup of a jasmine petal
or directly in the ecological toilet

I lost my tears and then found them again
so many times
I wiped them from my lips
I spread them on a delayed train’s window
they were cold as if everyone deserted me
as if getting rid of the Christmas tree wearing protection gloves

some people believed that I was contagious
they swore upon the silence of a dead language
that they haven’t  seen a child
yet
the shadow of my doll trembles on every wall

those who took care of the convent’s garden
left the dry trees
at god’s will ~
no more sunrise apples there
only a few empty nests abjured their shadow
on the straight road in the middle

as if the half paralyzed world
raised with all its might to sit up ~
the rest of the garden bore fruit

it had been hard to climb the stairs
on my knees
but as a good christian ~
how am i supposed to descend them my lord
the same way