Us—
the ones without vision.
Not blind, just
uninvited.

We don’t have a point of view—
we orbit around them.
Deja vu is all we know.
It’s our only map,
our only god.

We don’t understand.
We don’t resist.
We just
continue.

Like robots.
Like borrowed thoughts
on borrowed time.

Until the head meets the pillow
like a wall.
And still—no dreams,
just static.

Television is both prayer
and poison.
It flickers,
feeds,
forgets us.

Most people, poor souls,
try to think in reverse—
like it’ll bring back
whatever it was
we lost.

It weighs the heart like wet wool— this ache that won’t be wrung out. We try to outpace death, but what a useless art— to dodge the final breath, to forget the final prayer, to sleep through the silence draped in disguise.

When your parent dies, something in you unravels. A thread pulled loose from the tapestry of self. It’s as if someone spit into the soul’s well— and the echo never stops falling.

A part of you locks away in the hush of unspoken lies. And dragging through the days feels like pulling your own shadow through molasses.

When your parent dies, the world doesn’t end— but it forgets how to begin.

My body turns on me—
slowly, without ceremony.
So I turn onto it,
a truce of skin and ache.

Then I turn into my mother.
Then my father.
I watch my face in the mirror
and see their ruins rising.

I think of leaving the cities—
like the Maya did,
just walk out
and let the jungle eat my name.

I want to be Nefertiti,
but the gods are jealous.
And hungry.
And male.

I betray my body
and it knows.
It bruises back.
It creaks in the silence.

I wanted to be a god,
one of the ones with
eyes like fire and spines like gold.

But I am,
unfortunately,
CHELOVEK.
Meat and memory.
Ash in the mirror.
Dreams that ache like old teeth.

I’m reading the lines of the star-crossed pair,
But the words are tangled, they cry in despair
Their feelings are fog, not fire or flame—
Yet somehow, I know I’ve felt the same.

We’ve all been Romeo once in our lives,
Dreaming of love with wide-open eyes.
We’ve all been Juliet, young and bright,
Leaping for love in the dead of night.

But now the waves have all pulled back,
And I am walking a stormy track.
No compass, no song, no spark, no sun—
The passion is drained, the dreaming done.

I flip through pages of Napoleon’s war,
And Lavoisier’s laws I can’t ignore.
Who cares for a kiss in Verona’s air?
Not me—not now—not anywhere.

Old lovers die in their final scene,
And I die with them in between.
Again and again, I play the part—
A ghost with a silent, broken heart.

my body turns on me
I turn onto my body
I turn into my mother
I turn into my father
I am about to abandon the cities
Like ancient Maya did in ad
I want to become Nefertiti
but the gods are jealous
and greedy.
I am betraying my body
and it betrays me back
I want to be an ancient god
but unfortunately I am CHELOVEK

Easter is around the corner
Everything could be pink and blue.
Or it could be like Van **** painting
Which gives me the blues.
I am gathering eggs and bunnies,
I am screaming from pain.
Easter is never sunny.
It always calls for rain.
Easter gives me a sense of the future,
It fills me with hope, makes me sway.
It dissolves old scars and sutures.
Like a pill it takes pain away.

Hemingway gave me Paris
its streets, odors, and shops.
my despair, do not crush the crops
do not knock on the doors of the parish
we will be cursed by the priest.
You go west while I walk East
There's a harmonica playing somewhere
like a tune of my Homeland's scream,
the same alcoholic is drinking around the corner--
everything resembles a dream
everything brings you closer to me,
yet everything makes you distant
There is no money, which means there is no need
There is no money, there is no ****.
Montmartre has its atmosphere.
Even a tower reminds a sphere
We are alive we are looking for sightseeing
One guy looks French but has a black eye
One guy looks happy but he has been sinning
A warm scarf around a bare neck,
And fedora on a shaky head
who said that it is worse in a foreign country?
Who said Paris is far?
Hemingway, you and I are related--
yet we are a century apart
I buy pictures and books
I catch curses and looks
This holiday is always with me
We belong to each other.
My Paris--I'm yours--you're mine
You are a familiar lover.
You live, you hurt, you are confused...
Hemingway gave me Paris….
But it seems used...

My dad writes about villages, hamlets, and hay
What else can he write about? The light of the day?
My father wears linen suits
my father pursues
his poetry style.
His stye in the eye
his pie in the sky
but why, father, why?
No one is looking for questions
and answers are blind
I keep reading my Hamlet
And I fall behind.

Us--those
Who don't have their vision
who do not possess the point of view
it's all we do have-- de ja vu
We do not comprehend
we do not walk away
we just keep on like robots
till head hits the hay
television is a blessing
yet it's a curse
though most people, alas
try to think in reverse

Everything is an illusion
The baby birds live on my balcony
I sleep there too--my confusion
I read Julio Cortazar
I shop at local Bazar
I dress at the second hand store I drink
in the park
Nothing can be more pretentious
but I fully embark
my emptiness, my fullness and my despair
I sleep on the coach, and I sleep on the chair.
I read many books and I know many words
nothing can be more sinful than serving two gods
Yes, I am so unusual but I am boring too
The Immortalist is in my purse
He is my king Tutahkhamun for the night
he is my curse
my interplanet flight
I drink *****. I am turning hands,
and I am burning my gods.
I am burning my guts.
I am making fans
Nothing can be more pretentious than
to die alone
Sunday Minsk, and despair
and I sleep alone...in the chair...

She arched her eyebrow,
bit her lip
and got that open skirt slit
she loved that lens. it loved her back
But fame like life. It fades to black.
And maybe fame finds its demise
but real talent never dies.

I am writing you,
Whoever it may concern,
My traitor, my murderer, go on…
Write those words of Lethe
Dead rivers are cruel but do not last
I am dying slowly without you
But with you I am dying fast.
Some people buy tickets to Rica
Some people climb Everest
Some people burn sage and do Wicca
Some people put feelings to rest.

People were scared of udagan
she talked to the birds they talked back
people cannot see and despise those who can
she cooked plantains and drank brack
She was a modern shaman
Her lips were catching morning dew
she lived on river Nyoman
she talked to the animals
drank birch tree brew
walked the trails
didn't trim nails
her spirit animal was a grey fox
and some people said she was a hoax
Some called her old but oh udagan
she did not care her life just began.
She was just fasting and was thin and pale
she knew  her age was nothing on the Universe scale.

pandemic has been everywhere
in my mind
in my heart
in my purse
in the shape of flask,
this is the easiest task
People all look the same in the mask,
Let me think this is you
walking there down the street
I'll keep 6 feet away
but my feeling will stay
my feeling will stay

The ancient people were scared of gods
I am scared of nothing
I am scared of everything
being a child you are scared of Baba Yaga
being adult, you are scared of love, death, prison, cancer, AIDS and many more
the ancient people were scared of unfamiliar things
and we are scared of things we have been researching
I am scared of nothing
I am scared of everything
death, famine, abandoned children
gods, have mercy
if this is your currency
I am visiting bank on Mondays
I give them money, they give my dog milkbones.
gods are still silent
I am still ancient
I guess...

Love is a euphoria
An abstract drawing
A smelly ammonia
A constant pneumonia in my chest
And later withdrawal
The feeling was put to a rest but the
Soul is still mourning

You're still disturbing
You're still bothering me
Skin on skin
Lie on lie
Light on light
Flight or fight
I have chosen the flight
I can't fight so I write
I cannot write to you
So I write to nowhere
I cannot be with you
So I've been everywhere
I tried this I tried that
I fall down and regret
Then I raise and proceed
I've been hurt so I bleed
I cannot talk to you
So I talk to the tombs
Angels listen and smile
I give pennies to boms
I am beggar myself
But I won't beg for love
You're disturbing to me
But I am good enough
By myself
It's my wealth
Skin
On skin
Page on
Page
Age
To
Age
There is nothing to loose
I put feeling on snooze
You're still bothering me
Deep inside in my throat
Tongue
To tongue
Tooth for tooth
Eye for eye
Laugh for love
You're still bothering me
Love's like permanent dye
I can grow some new roots
But old colors wont die.

Rainy Сounty
Smashing against the asphalt
drops of something grey
I have been lately tired
I have been everywhere
It is raining in Rainy County
erasing child's drawing on mud
smoldering tears and blood
smoldered with indignation
life is a litigation
that has been settled to thud
life is an abandoned garden
where no one waters the flowers
they water anything ardent
letting the dull things to bloom
letting the bright things to die
It's raining in Rainy county
that means there is always a room.
For us to be wall for a fly.

If my heart was an Art house

Everything that worries you
Does not worry me anymore
Anything that wears you out
Doesn't have effect on me
Our pathways won't cross
I see no one on cross,
You are someone abroad
Anything related to you
Everything concerning you
Washed away by someone's
Spit on a brick yellow road
Everything about you was so flaky
You were shaky too
After nights Spent in bars
After nights behind bars
Anyone related to you
Anyone betrayed by you
Got lost in the worlds
Got trapped between words
At Everything about you
I am looking in lieu
In light of circumstances
Through the heartbeat of stances
Everything about you
Anything  about you is in ashes
My writing's in dashes
When I write about you
Anything concerning you
There's something about you...

Let me teach you how to kiss
Give me your lips
The instincts will do everything for you
Let me show you how to love
And how to betray and leave
I am a good teacher
Let me break into your dreams
Let me break your dreams
I am a thief
I have stolen your life
Let me
But your tongue stuck in my throat
It twists and it doubles
I cannot be indifferent anymore
My poison goes back into my blood
And poisons me
There are two conspirators
In the Love matter
Nothing else matters
Nothing else better
We are turning into one two selves
I am stealing your identity
You are snatching mine
Our DNAs have entangled
I have tried to be indifferent
But I have failed
teachers get bad grades too
The students get privileges
I have tried to enter your life
quietly not taking off shoes
But
You renamed my life into yours
It is pretty ***** right now
There are spits and mud everywhere
Where is the cleaning lady?
Yes, that kiss was awfully good
But who is going to clean all that mess?

I am drawing my dreams,
I am painting my pain,
I am sketching my sentimentality
I am doodling my dignity
I am portraying my poverty
I am illustrating my illness

Clothes, paintings, people
No
Its only words that matter
A word was in the beginning
A word will be in the end
I am waiting a word from you
Or three
Or two
I, you, they
And only
One word in between
This word is longer than eternity
This word is yes

The moon is like a gigantic fire ball coming out of
Of the dark mountains,
It dazzles me
I always was wandering how the moon can be dazzling
It is sun that dazzles.
The night has invaded the town
The night has been looking through me.
I cannot say No to it
I cannot say No to myself
Night always gives those topics for the meditation,
Why what when where with whom
How much how well how soon
There are plethora of questions to answer.
And even more answers to question.
Night is your best friend and your
Worst enemy at times.
It fights you and it is always on your side.

It's so heavy on my heart
to escape the death --what a useless art
to evade the final day
to forget the final pray
to sleep in through all that disguise
when your parent dies
something in you disintegrates as well
someone spit in your soul
into this bottomless well
something locked part of you
in the darkness of lies
it is hard to drag through
when your parent dies
when your parent dies

Scandinavian movies
Bring a lot of fog in my life.
My life is so foggy
My dreams are  groggy..
Elvira Madigan looks at him
While he is shaving…
Scandinavian movies
I like to watch them.
They stop this crazy Flamenco
That my heart dances
They bring the coldness of
Fjords in it.

Doctor Glas reads the verdict:

“This is a chronic disease
Underneath her soul is sinful grease
Darkness blackness, the lack of light
She is so tired to fight
So tired to fight.
She loves
There is no cure
yet
She is a liar
Her love is not pure
Her life is dirt, distilled sin
She is so tired to fight
She won’t ever win.”

Elvira Madigan kisses her lover
I am imagining I am kissing you
Elvira Madigan leans forward, kisses him
He still has a blade in his hand,
He unclamps the vessel with his desires,
He unclamps his hand
The blade falls off
This is so dangerous
Like …..Love.
Scandinavian movies
I like to watch them.

It is the dullest thing in the world
to drink ***
with the hope that you won't have a hung over tomorrow
it is also too naive to believe
that two wings can take you away from you
the bar at the airport is busy
with every shot
I am forgetting your name
and your skin
your whisper
I am forgetting you
losing myself
in a ***
it is the dullest thing in the world
to *** away
your love
to run away from yourself
it is the sin.
I am going on a business trip
sounds like a nonsense
in reality,
I ruin the lives
giving money to people
borrowing from the others.
I cant even get on a plane...
forget me
abandon me
for
I failed the main deal
of my life
I failed LOVE

oh yes
there are worse things
than being alone
Bukowski

there are worse things
than being alone
there is a death, a sickness, poverty
sum altogether, add some salt
from my pursed lips
this is my life without you
there are worse things
hurricanes, tsunamis, tornadoes
and broken childhood
and I love you
and am happy
when you leave
I evacuate the town of my happiness
I break down my card or toy houses
my child inside of me cries
you break my happy childhood
you break me
oh yes there are worse things
the depths of insanity
the oceans of the desperation
insomnia
Time magazine always changes its cover
why would you leave me now
in this gray and gloomy world
one on one with grief
there are worse things
but this place without you is pretty
bad

I am leaving
means
I am staying
and I hate you
translates
into I adore you
I will be fine
Is
I am so shaky
I am done
equals
I would continue
I do not care
hides
I care so much!
A wry smile
masks tears
A new lover
doesn't worth s...t
a blocked number
is being unblocked daily
a blocked heart
is unblocked and is ready to love
again
I am leaving
means I am forgiving

The lavender fields of my love
They are so charming
yet so distant.
To go into the fields,
To get lost there... with you
To kiss you, to stroke you
Darling,
Two hearts
That are beating
So fast,
Dreams.
The lavender dreams
They are tender and soft.
To love you,
To meet the yellow sunrise with you.
say farewell to the sunsets,
not cling to the echoes,
celebrate the silence,
the lavender fields,
the purple obsession,
the violet dreams,
And love.

You are being very rude
You are casting stones at me
Have I deserved it?
I am not
What have I done?
Nothing and Everything
Shall I give you some coffee?
Some cigarettes?
When, warmed by shot of *****
you had yelled at this Romanian girl,
you did wrong to her.
I secured myself an empty bench
to see how you and she were arguing.
I was about to leave.
Then you spotted me and started beating me with your words,
Don't be such an aggressor,
you!
Do not be rude, crude.
Your presence here is a necessary evil,
your voice is a thunder.
Your fists are the heads of Gorgon.
You made our night miserable
You hasn't owned up. You said you were mean and the period.
I tried to be a devil's advocate for a moment
trying to understand you but I wasn't successful.
I came away from work feeling like my existence was a failure.
My expectations of the world
were pack of lies.
I wasn't even boiling mad,
I was frustrated,
You killed our night,
You destroyed our spirit,
You were pink of the imperfection,
you were a pig.
COWORKER

I do not recognize myself
I cannot even to be angry with you anymore
When I am mad at you my soul could fit in the tin
It is so tiny from the bad feelings.
You are a stunt man on a cliff of my desperation.
Tell me how to put through these feelings.
I remind myself a robot:
I get up, look in the mirror, do not recognize myself
drive myself in a car, go to work.
I consume my lunch, I talk to people, I make vows,
I do not believe myself.
It rains every day in my soul
The roads get slippery and dangerous,
My blood runs on the highway
Very fast
No speeding tickets for a driver
Who is the driver, anyways?
My heart is tired to suffer.
It works because it has taken this responsibility.
I drive somewhere with no destination point.
I look in the rear-view mirror,
I do not recognize myself.
I do not recognize myself.

She tells me crying into a handkerchief
Just one day without jealousy will be good
To not abuse
To set free
To not hold and let go easily .
I am tired to be an angry jealous girl.
I want to return myself back to myself.

Help me to survive and to forget
Anyone? Please?

All my savings I will give to the person
Or a divine creature
Who will set me free from the jealousy.
And I will give away all my secrets, additionally.
The secrets of the jealous person?
This is an interesting reading.
Permanently
Constantly jealous
Suspicious with abundance
Can you imagine that?
She asks me
Her handkerchief is wet.
You just need to wait
and start counting
Count to a hundred , go into the silence
And  find just one reason .
One that will help to forget
Suspicion that hinders love
Justification for all the sins of resentment
always looking for "evidence" hands.
And there will come times of change,
Please, do not look for clues about cheating
Look for evidence of love
And you will find
The evidence of love.

She looks into the mirror
She sees the mistakes of the nature,
Outside her windows people die and suffer,
But her birthmarks are all in wrong places,
Freckles that spoil impression,
There is no death or illness in her world,
Only imperfection in the mirror,
She doesn’t want
to go to school tomorrow,
The reason is: everybody will see the same.
Egocentrism

In the corner of my mind
I saw you in Ruby Tuesday
You were still mine
You were drinking blue moon
I couldn’t laugh anymore
I was a jester you’re buffoon,
All my life is stupid race
Always a “crying disgrace”
I remember but what for?
In the corner of my life
I saw us kissing-laughing-dancing
Four years ago
Everything is still alive
In my heart
We were  in TGI Fridays,
In Bethany Blues, Big Fish grill
My life is like a spoilt brat
Runs down the hill.
My days of the week are all Mondays
In the corner of my heart
No more joy, all restaurants are closed
All places reserved
By sadness and fight.

Drink your blue moon
And get out of here.

Elvira Madigan looks at him
While he is shaving,
This is a chronic disease
Underneath my soul is sinful grease
Darkness blackness, the lack of light
I am so tired to fight
So tired to fight
I love you
There is no cure
I love you
I am a liar
my love is not pure
my life is dirt,  distilled sin
I am so tired to fight
I won’t ever win
Elvira Madigan kisses her lover
I am imagining I am kissing you
Elvira Madigan leans forward, kisses him
He still has a blade in his hand,
He unclamps the vessel with his desires,
He unclamps his hand
The blade falls off
This is so dangerous
Like …..Love.

Her fingernails were painted with little yellow suns
That’s ridiculous I thought
Some stupid forty –five years old
Housewife with ambitions
Or even worse—divorced *****
With her too high self confident
Ego
Who thinks that men just adore her?
For who what she is
We were in dogfish head or big fish grill
I always get lost in names
She was sitting opposite me and C
And was sending him strange playful looks
You could notice that she was definitely fake
Her ***** were too big and face
Her face saw a surgical scalpel
How we say in Belarus
About women who love plastic surgery
I was jealous
I thought something was going on between her and C
How old are you she asked me
And everyone looked at me
26 I said
A baby she stated
I was surprised
I considered myself too old
Among my acquaintances
And how old is she I whispered to C’s ear
Over 50 I think—he said
--Doesn’t matter—he said
--She is fake. Her ***** are fake, her
Face is fake. Her soul is fake.
We went to play pool later
But this X disturbed me
They live in the same hotel I thought
They work at the same work
She is tall
She used to look like a model when she was young
My paranoid jealousy started
Invading me slowly
From my toes to my scalp.
I saw in his phone
He was texting her—Love you
Stupid phrase
Without the I word
You never know whether he loves or he is just polite
I still don’t know whether or not.
She probably wasn’t that fake.
He probably lied again.

I haven’t been invited for the C holiday of life. He definitely had fun without me. I didn’t have anything from him. I didn’t even have his shadow. I wanted to close Facebook site forever in order not to see the pictures of his lovers, I wanted to through away his letters but didn’t, I wanted to erase his words from my memory, but they were still in my ears. Without all doubts, C still was disturbing to me, intriguing and enigmatic. My love was like an obsession: strong and unfair, without any hope for “love in return”, any moral support or encouragement. There was no hope for me. C had just got rid of me. Got rid off me like of the uncared, unnecessary thing. He had just left me, and that’s it.

Time goes by,
But nothing changes,
my words, my songs, my world.
I haven't realized before
That happiness was so close.
Yet so far...
put my painting on your wall,
Look at it, remember me.
I am yours forever through this
painted eye looking at you.
You are Chad and I am Mara.
I am Mara and you are Chad.
Time goes by,
But nothing changes,
time goes by
and life goes by.

I wanna smoke a cigarrette with Obama

We’ll lower the sound on Futurama

He will hand me a pack of Marlboro or Newport

He will puff I will puff

Life will be like a resort

We will talk about politics and in vain

Puff again puff again puff again puff again

We would smoke and we would quit

He will swear again

For six years ”no cigarrettes lit”

I will quit smoking too

We will play peekaboo

And turn the volume back up on Futurama

I will boast to my friends

I quit smoking again with Obama

Your tidy soul:
  
   No horror, no fear
  
   No emotions,
  
   No colors,
  
   Only white walls
  
   All sterile
  
   No infection of feelings
  
   And the stench of chlorine
  
   Everywhere, everyday, every moment