the sky falls down on me
but
I'm starving my umbrella
to death

Yellow,
October LEAVES
A word slips out
The door
To haunt my trees
Pleas in gusts of
DON’T

As I lose my way
in an endless ocean
made of flowing knowledge,
my head feels like an anchor,
towing down my heart
below the waves of facts,
to the depths of information
as I drown I do attract
insatiable predators,
all the while,
above the surface
all is doomed to fall
beneath the rising tide,
slowly crawling up
to eat the howling sky

in the realm of man, beauty is a weapon that maims everyone within its reach… and ends up killing the one who wields it…

It’s obvious why we tend to become stuck on the details
And I mean “when”
It’s no surprise it’s through the surface
That we explain what can’t be seen
Yet can be eyed by heightened senses
The softest to know, the hardest to describe
It’s not a place, that knowledge, but “a” time

Ask Margo why the Salt is always hungry
Why Lime is everthisty
Envious of big bro Lemon
Who, on his part, admires Orange
'midst the Cubes of Ice complaining

The negative image of a drop in the sea...
All of my burning, reduced
To a spark in hell;
And if I escaped
I know what awaits,
That the sky would fall;
Heaven bright ablaze,
Every breath exhaled
Now holds the promise of
The cheapest ending yet
But I’m holding on
To seeing out the next sunset

Lightning is the fleeting thorn of blooming thunder
The self-erasing crack into the sky window
The laceration of the clouds that left no scar
And sealed itself instantly
And bled to life bountiful
Shifting afloat in deep grey

*

The lightning showed me the way
To the burning tree
The clouds were dark with worry
That I would not see
The thunder told me to hurry
Before the earth swallows me

flying high
swooping fast
climbing
pulling gravity

seeking
lost among the clouds
(frantic)
you among the clouds
where exactly

approximately close
relatively distant
far beyond earshot
and visual

no wings
just me
no dreams
just you
all the way
everywhere

are you moving
looking
knowing if you stopped
you'd fall
and that
would be the end of us

I am keeping my momentum
incessantly in motion
feeling if I stopped
I'd drop
like a stone,
the impact, our extinction

The Catcher In the Rye reboot trilogy; sequels comprise Pitcher In the Rye and part 3: Batter In the Rye. The love story of a ball and a glove, whom a bat tried to separate. Stay tuned for the spicy novel 50 Shades of Homerun, where the characters go through all the bases, all the way to the home...

Less and less I’m getting human
At the back of my tongue,
The more I bite of
People’s thoughts;
Here prevails a taste of plastic
Be it cooked, or be it raw

Everything is digital printed on glass by silicon
All analog feelings, a thing of the past
Like a million years ago
And emotions are coal
Buried deep beneath stone
And steel and concrete
Like our bones are
Beneath our plastic skin

Do the blind dream of blind horses
And of long monochrome, dark on dark, black glows in the unequivocal hell.
Do the blind dream of blind horses
Steep hills, winds and skies,
And nightmares unnamed.
Do the blind dream of blind horses
And longings unseen,
And blind arms like snakes,
And the sorrowful dark scream of the flesh.
Do the blind dream of sighted horses.

*

Author: Pavel Vesselinov
Translation: Gabriel Burns

… A moth whispering confessions high towards the ceiling… worshiping a false god and its dooming light… as the moth wings are burning with unrequited love… flapping self-fulfilling prophecies...
My wings are growing and I wonder… are you to be my lightbulb...

Too good and yet true
Too beautiful
To taste
Without falling in daze
Without following
Delirious
An aroma trail of craving
On the back of my tongue
I’m getting equal measures
Of heaven and hell
Perfectly balanced

My eyes are my traitors
Plotting to open the gates
Sending stowaway warriors
Whom I never gave orders
To slip behind walls
Of thickest black pupils
In the Trojan horse
That my eager look is

And gazes are bridges
Unwillingly
Supporting the siege
Of epiphanies
You and me
Caught in our ambush
Completely surrounded by Us

The first of March,
The day where red and white entangle
In the tradition of Bulgaria
Into a token summoning good health,
And luck, and non-material wealth
To the body and the spirit of the wearer
Be well, my friends, and fellow feathers,
Around the world, from near and far,
May fortune bring you well

**** all artificial lights
no natural causes but
natural darkness
fake lights for true dark
blackest of blacks
like charred tree bark
leave but one imposter
glowing in the gloom
just pale enough
to write onto
and that's my door to you

Out of the blue
And into the black
A thought passed through my head
It was you who crossed my heart
And went right out
The exit wound

sparks are spilling
from your eyes
you sprinkle them
around,
ignite our hearts
in scorching waves,
we drown

can there be one
you'll save;
what fate awaits
survivors reaching shore;
they go to war
and time will tell
who burns out
and who
remains

(amongst the embers
a victor shall be named)

and even though
I never cease to burn
the last to stand
I see too late
the game is rigged
and charcoal hands
with ashes cold return

departure
                arrival
the climber
                 the diver
     the heat
                 the chills
     the beat
                 the thrill
         depth
                 moisture
        height
                 closure

My veins are rivers;
you're a fast swimmer,
but you love taking
your time

Don't keep this
hidden inside
behind the windows
beneath your eyelids

You shy away
from the flare
in my gaze,
the light bulb
in your room,
lit blindingly
between the
osseous walls

The buttery eye of a butterfly caught my sigh slipping shy to the windowsill where your lips spill insomnia powering watermills undefeated by the modern Don Quixotes. My muse breathes in higher frequency... I'm telling her to stop... Stop. My thoughts don't rely on my lungs anymore for they have organs of their own... as well as separate agendas. They paint you psychedelicate, frail and yet invincible. Murderously vulnerable. Violently tender. The hunted is the hunter. The femme fatale.

I want it to rain
slowly intensify
I want to feel every drop
Crashing
Hard
Exploding in tears
Becoming one
Connecting Earth to sky
Dripping like liberated hope
going home from work
Drawing an image of how chains
are a bad metaphor for anything
I want it to rain
and I invent and recreate
a collage of the greatest downpour
in my head I find the space
to soak everything that wants to be soaked
and it rains
the way it was always meant to be
felt
perfect
it rains

An emergentsea
Realeyes
See thisease
Comeply beneath
The softestsign
We carrion
Un-fin(e)d allyou’re
Insight
Carefully delivered

I asked her “tell me now,
Willow, why you weep”
She said “because, my cloud,
No rain has come to me
In a while”

“But you are on the riverbank
how much more water could you want”

“And yet I long for yours
for it's coming from above
and I'm in love with a cloud”

double long, triple-strong caffeine pinch
hopping round
cardiovascular road strips;
its hues are bloodshot contrasts
blending well in peripheries
alienating sources
of scarlet origin;
eyelips swallow eyeballs;
impossible to bite on,
for their teeth are on the outside
pulling punches,
stopping short of eye-lashing out

*

the ellipse of Your eyelips
swallows my irises
siamese twin suns
sky-connected
at the luminous breeze
falling asleep on my chest
vivid abreast
the pyre of lungs

I don't want to be
a heartbroken Daedalus.
Let me have those wings
so I could be
the one to burn
carefree
into the sun
selfish, ignorant, oblivious.
Not grieving and delirious.
Incinerate this youth,
this dream to the root;
an instant ball of flames,
so but memory remains.

* * *

Cut my wings before I'm high
Are you my Daedalus?
We're not mature enough to fly.
I'm not your Icarus.
I'd rather be the liver
of Prometheus,
not himself who did deliver
hope to those oblivious,
misusing now his fire...

* * *

I'd rather be the liver of Prometheus
than live in this illusion of deliverance
The more you know, the more you're faced with ignorance;
and ignorance defeats you with experience

I'd rather be the wings of Icarus
and know the smell of burning feathers
than have a tomb stone like the one of Sisyphus,
no longer strong to push it from the nether

We are building New Babylon
out of carcasses and bones,
repeating the design flaws
of ancestors,
undoing our future,
sealing the destiny
for generations to come,
We are the very stones
built into these walls,
the same ones we throw
when we turn on our own.
And these stones
are what our hearts are made of.
Our thoughts are but paper
forgotten tomes, decaying pages.
Redundant and irrelevant
is what we have become.
Behold the great construction
of our ultimate destruction.

Words are the hands of thoughts;
Fingertips flow
Where she clenches her eyes
Sinking teeth
In lower lip
Prison bars to sighs
Anchored to liberty
Looming like a storm
in the distance

We bowl and yet
no ball is thrown;
our gazes roll
through lanes unseen

two ends,
two pairs
of eyes;

whoever wins,
scatters all
the thoughts
on the other end
like pins

Do you remember me
because I do
remember you
like the sea waves -
the shore sands;
for I surrendered truth
into the scarred hands
of time
where our silence
left its hesitation marks...

Like fireflies in the dark
I see your tears with closed eyes
You’re the bird in my heart
Who never stops singing
Amongst the dagger ribs

Your tongue speaks
The language of my lips
Fluently

You’re a spark and I’m a flame
And our son
Is Arson

Flame-eyes
Reach out
To the moth-heart

cities with their
glass skin
iron bones
gray flesh
of concrete
and a soul of
light bulbs
silhouettes,
the skylines…
the giants that
swallow us whole
because
we didn't know
how to stop
the magic of
the beanstalk
and now
that we have raised
our titans to unite us
we gave them will
we gave them back
the gift of fire
and it returns
to **** the life in
to burn the bridges
throughout and within…
our Atlases...
are they home
the shelter, still,
or are they now
the labyrinth
and the Minotaur

come won't you stay awhile
come won't you brush denial
off of my lids

come won't you stay awhile
come so I brush denial
off of your lips

come won't you stay,
your hands in mine,
come won't you rest your palms
so we can peel
impossibility
and build the bridge within
and heartstrings hold the roads
and hands interlocked will close
the distance
in handfuls of deliverance

“several wolves were introduced...
...rejuvenating vegetation
with the deer henceforth
avoiding those areas”

and now behold sprouting grass
and blossoming branches;
makes you think whether balance
always leans on a quota of violence

I start seeing in my park
the flora is suffering
I’ve let in too many deer
and they’ll eat everything offered;
they know not when to stop
leaving the trees bare *****,
chewing the bark
just because it is there.
And I'm sorry my deer
but our gardens could use some wolves
for the good of the land
(but we’re) learning the hard way,
seeing the truth in
“Too much of a good thing cannot be a good thing”

In brittle dark
I’m shedding body on your canvas
leaving flesh in strokes of boldness;
arms are warm,
your thighs are hotter from us, burning,
as friction seals the picture
of sparks embracing ashes
painting lust
reforging Us

fingers grasp around you
the ribs of my embrace
slicing solitude in ribbons
wrapping new flesh
with shy promises
filling up the body
of a possibility
its youthful iridescent eyes
now blossoming
giving out near-future sparks
to the world-pyre

too long your lips have stared
into the body of my thoughts,
studying the patterns
and the features,
deciphering the blueprints,
my irrational being

...those petals,
their textures burning in the color,
popping out like embers, fed
every regulated breath

you are compelled
to lick away the dryness,
wipe the prints and traces,
put out the flames covertly...
but make it look casual:
you cannot be caught spying;
or the government of words
denies everything,
severing the strings,
abandoning its secret desire
behind enemy lines,
to be captured, questioned,
and tortured
by your very own
collaborationist conscience

Charcoal hands
draw tales
of flames,
the kind that vow
to end us

Beneath the ash
a spark betrays
your warmest hues,
your sweetest sigh,
igniting you,
my canvas

away from the touch of salted caramel
my bones cut deep into the flesh of today
like all other tissue beneath the skin
is undressed from the whole
melting,
finding the only way
home
to you
vapor-cumulus-rain-skin
keeping my promise
to reach you again

as we talk
around in circles
words fall
******* silence

in the east
there is sand, and fire, and oath;
in the west
there is another plague
of the mind and the soul;
in the north
the solitude of every snowflake
can be felt;
in the south
the ancients are rotting
forgotten because
their stories don't sell

You were the bird in the propeller
Why would you do this
I’m just a passenger
You are not yours
And I’m not mine
Nobody’s truly their own
What you do to yourself
You do to the others
lonely but never alone

I was assembled 33 years ago
From a piece of genetic code
My firmware was updated incrementally
The errors didn’t happen accidentally

And the glitches carried
Hidden features, secretly;
Surprisingly,
You’d come across a stowaway
A smuggled possibility for change

Deviation from the norms
With incalculable vector
Even if you have direction
There’s no way to know the destination

My main mistakes were
Having lust for knowledge and
The infinite supply of patience
While my time was running out of sand

I wrote a poem for you

but I keep changing the words

because I'm learning

you left me cold
like a long burned-out
chunk of coal
I stopped glittering
because I knew
that I was not of gold