nettle once brittle
kneels on burning snow
dandelion grove
breathing ashes bitter

an elephant-like hole in the ground
don’t look in on the strangers
eyes wide from the danger
disappeared with all the sound

a doll holding a hand
hands sleeping in, tight
in their hold, no fight
just dance with the twirling sand

nettle once brittle
kneels on empty plane
once nest’s now a grave
full of ashes bitter

Kelsey O’nara
a girl with eyes so green
you find yourself lost in that what could seem
like the green pastures of forever to hold

just say, say her name to call her again
say, say: O’nara, my dearest friend

Kelsey O’nara
a girl of thousand faces
you need to caress her to know how the changes
go through to get, get you through

just say, say her name to learn a few new ways
say, say: O’nara, I loved and I’ll love those days

Kelsey O’nara
a girl of the purest smiles
you’ll want to smile back for her to know that you tried
finding yourself grown over by a warm hug

just say, say her name to feel the calm, calm happy
say, say: O’nara, yourself I just might need

Kelsey O’nara
a girl of the last goodbyes
you don’t know how to say or how to make last
you try anyway since the future is to pass

so say, say her name with a one last bow
say, say: O’nara, take my hand, and let’s go

take my hand, and let’s go

my love, daily,
my daily bread,
falls on my
buttered-side
down daily

my love, daily
my daily dish,
pour over my
flimsy flats
for that I wish, daily

my love, daily,
my daily dial,
pick me mine
pricked up ears
the line is deaf, daily

the non-people are never sure.
they endure
in silence, or more loud
the staccato of the empty sound.
then they get full of dust,
and see
the dust dusting their ***** non-needs.
smiles and lists
getting guilty, one flees.

the non-people are never brave.
they cave
in every moment of doubt
because doubting is an activity close to the ground.
their lips would get stung
by the ants and bees and wasps;
flowery fields,
lavenders smelling so strong it’d hurt.
missing grasps
of truths so crude.

the non-people are not, no more.
they never were
just forgot to be there, where
others are humming like drops of rain.
stormy sides
but main
would be that what isn’t.
forgotten bars of an empty prison.
hum and groan
for any life is just a loan.

if I am a verse
you are a petter

if you are a line
I’m this letter

a sonet
of a non poet

for worse
and better

the Poem's Ark
sail us now!

I've been occupied
seeking the meaning of life,

reading it was forty-five
now, it doesn't matter,

so bare is the matter
I don't count the stars,

not even the scars
anymore.

Uspal jsem roky
uspal jsem tmu

uspal jsem těla
zůstává mu


uspat
sebe


anebo, samo nebe
a samo nebo tebe