the window crack was filled with wasps
they multiplied by blinks
seeping out rapidly
slinging to our lives
******* to the honey of our fears
Or mine, surely they were mine to begin with

frogs are slimy creatures that rapidly shift from one puddle of crap to another.
they are everywhere, as i try to count them i myself turn into one
only I am not green
my frog color is **** like. its a puddle of beer brown and rotten avocado.
I, the frog, have a smell- a vacuum cleaner odor essence
muddy puddles where other frogs are seem to be occupied
and so i am left with the vicious wasps

I am so terrified. Ashamed in a dark veil
rolling in it for days now, no cut out to be found.

i would press my stomach until I became so small that to reinvent myself would be just like enlarging
not starting over.
shame in the shadow tucks me in, several times a day.
rather than cries for help
blurs of hell

they whisper it wont end
dont fool your self
you are just fooling yourself
when you come this far going anywhere else....hah, dont fool yourself
slur into oblivion
maltreat into expiration

I had seen them separately
for summer months in several occasions
both frail but different.

She was melancholic.
He was depressed.

He would want to **** what ever came his way
She wouldn't because her wound was still puffy and prickling.
Maybe she still wanted him to **** her, but would never admit.
He roamed around young flesh and devoured every possible minute of sensation.
swallowing all kind of crap for a hand of youth.
They were both in a golden cage of their thirst for blossom.
Such sadness.
The more they spoke the more it never made sense to me.
Maybe that was the trick.
They took away time I will never get back, time when they had it was spent differently.
I would rather make love and wonder the streets with miracles of the skies.
Instead I am looking at all these people running around with these suitcases they carry full of their history crap.
Soon I ll get one for myself and stand to a much younger than me who looks at the world with the eyes of a five years old.
It's inevitable, they told me.
No one will know that I am alive. It will be late at night, beautiful beer bottles and a suitcase.

I sit for most of the day
almost always by the window

I place my muzzy body in a tall wooden chair
run my fingers through my eyes
smear dreadful thoughts
which begin with pain in my left thumb
deadness plocks
I am captive.

I want. I tell myself what i want.
I want it to be mine, to come from my aching bones and tingly devilish spasms
petrified
patricide
but its not me. or is it
a solemn search
where the lights are off

I want a vessel to open
in soft creamy sunlight streaks
with warm feel
gushing the stupidness out
numerous arms will captivate me
others. not mine
in crisp air
easy kisses
plop

I poured coffee for the electrician, into the other cup/
other cups are in a different cupboard, other cups are... now I know what other cups are for

I shame myself
blue-green liquid dissolves with my fingers, pinching white foam slurring at me
they are all the same. i think. but not act

I poured sparkling water for the electrician, into the other glass
mine had drawings by Miro
his was not mine and tattered.

All of this, happened in the morning.
Now that the evening has come, I penn it.  
with admirations and motivation of different kind in mind,
with solitary aspiration
to be effective.

tonight I'll have a slight opinion
but it better not dissolve by sunrise
yet rise and prevail.
for before the disgrace
I ponder in wordy content of mere echo
in the unknown covert cave of me

onda kada mislim o lepim a propalim secanjima,
kada ponekad sebi to dozvolim
najstrasnije se kaznim.
kidam i ljustim sebe razlozima
dopustam samo jednoznacnost.

onda kada mislim o njihovoj liniji
isprekidam je
tako su mi prazni
tako nedostizni
njihova linija obecanja, strahova, velikih saka i praznih stomaka
uzasava me.

onda pomislim  kod onih drugih mora da je bolje, toplije i neznije
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stene

istina


onda, opet setim se plavog vrtloga
onda, opet kaznim se