This day is not your friend
This day is an enemy of delusions
Enemy of benevolence
This day steals red swords

The transformation has happened
Secretly apart from the living ones
In the stomach of the pregnant ******
Between the laps of Golem

The river was raging!
So the day would become silent
The river and the day were fighting
Something new evolved from it

A creature of lurid lights
Unknown to all callous people
Others know this creature
At dawn it guzzles words

A wink from the rose of shadows,
From the forgotten for the famous ones,
From the glorious to the filthy,
For the waterfall in space, twinkling
Under the rain of stars.

A wink. Pull it out! Cause the rose
Had withered in the shadow of the
Deceased.

Nothing remained from that day. Just
Lines of quiet memories. Conserved
In a red casket. Protected from extinction.
Embalmed in the blood of the ancients.
A good scent. Cause future, my friends,
Future evolves from the colors of the
Night.

Pain is just a matter of
Sensation
That's why I avoid it
It became a mania.
Mania made of red, restless
Compulsions.

Never sitting quietly.
Not being quiet.
Doing things incessantly,
Encased by the veil of the
Alley.

In the fellowship of the words.
Room of the black safe.

Strange.
This moment is a mutation of
Character — what's gonna happen?

The blinds remain closed to prevent
Straying lights to bother the room.
Besides, the sirens are screaming
On the street; silence has bled out.

It's good as it is.
Not wanting to be someone else
In the fellowship of the words;
Protected in a warm cave.

By the broken tree, split into
Two v-shaped stakes.

She was waving her hands about,
Pointing at me, light burning
Inside her eyes.

She was talking with a voice
That disrupted the sky.
"Walk on over into the bit of
Shade and you'll be saved."

The broken tree was gone.
At its place I got up for a ride
Through a daydream in the desert.
With a skull made of violence.

I would like to know the answer.
You know it?

Sing a song for me. Then, I'll capture
Words from your voice and, like a
Fisherman, heave the words through
The water of life.

There is no end left. The end was abolished, when the writer, back from
Exile, had a black safe installed in the
Wall.

Decades afterwards, a medium-aged man
Will have been led into her nursery; the
Writer has passed away; in the fellowship
Of the words they are connected.

I tethered my words to the bonds of
Compulsions to open your mouth.
To fit the words into it, your mouth
Has to be unconditionally opened.
It's just a dream: Eden has disappeared
Amidst pedestrians; I'm calling her name.
But I only see strangers. Being sure
To have spotted her, a wave of relief
Is suffusing me.

Then this person is lifting her head: I'm
Looking into a stranger's face.

I'm looking at you in the mirror of
The closed eye, in the kingdom
Of resistance, while you are
Writing in an exploding building.

At a table of skins from past
Years, obsessed by a very special
IDEA.

You're off the wall, sweat is flowing
From your forehead in torrents,
Steadily you're stomping in the
Debris of the streets — your skin
Became a mix of callus and blood.

The debris litters the streets with
The skelletons of failed relationships —
You hate control freaks.

Why you despise yourself?
Does it have to be this way?
Is love or the enemy governing?
Who's pulling the strings?

Shut the **** up!
Reconciliation my ***!
Little *****!
Ain't no enemy in my head...

On the day when all hearts
Were frozen, a red woodpecker,
Close to dying due to a heat stroke,
Was pecking the arteries of all
Frozen hearts —
So, the hearts were melting.

Dissolving into a puddle.
The puddle became a pond.
From the pond, a lake had evolved.
The lake emptied into a river.
Out of it, the ocean of melting
Hearts emerged.

It is said that the red woodpecker
Turned into a poet.
Who, steadily engrossed in thought,
More and more focusing on fame
And glory, got an icy heart.