Sansara Justinovich

Sansara Justinovich Mar 2011

Dreams of boats and dinosaurs
eschewing everyone
without weapons and rafts;
green, tangled pieces of iron lie
dying
beside rickety picnic tables below.
We’ll likely die here, as well.
In Florida; the hot meridian sun
heating everything.
Our perpetual youth is embodied in
dilapidated buildings
and war memorials.

Past empty,
we walk. Gas stations and burning hotels
all blaring radios or alarm-clocks
set to Spanish polka.
No maids to listen to them here.
Or to turn the sheets and place
chocolates.
The sun laps up the flood now
exposing
rusty iron tools
or fossils.

Maybe blood is like oil or soda
removes wine stains.
Snapping open mortgages is brutal at first
-- like oysters halved and
emptied on a plate.
But they must
stop
hurting, eventually,
after we boil them.

MMXI

Sansara Justinovich Mar 2011

Feb. 14

Weeks since the Day of Valentine
returned,
the gift I’d had for her was
gone.
Twenty dollars, some coins were
tokens of my affection;
or the value of French words strewn across American pulp.
Insipid or otherwise--
was it the action or result I more despised?
An attempt to carve my personality
in totem
out of trees and other people's words.
To my mind it seemed like children’s doodles
on a colored pencil bookmark
that could be
****** immediately
behind a large magnet on your fridge.
But it's lost within those passages, un-deciphered,
never—turned, regardless.
Swallowed in the palms of the bookstore’s proprietor
and regurgitated on its shelf.
My plan, it seemed to be all along;
as in my first dumb year.
First grade, with little since I've learned
from pop-music, plush monkeys in middle school;
vapid loneliness I glean from
years that have been the same.
Young acquaintances have ricocheted,
as phone calls often do;
All imitate the laughing sun,
renounce
the bitter moon.

MMXI

Sansara Justinovich Mar 2011

Spigot

My legs tense, eyes wary of the slightest movement
around me
I had to bury all my doubts to even lift a finger,
the one
attached to
a line from my sternum to my hips
--So I’m here?
Does my presence fail to impress?
-- no,
it’s nice to feel false breath escape one’s lips
and maybe
everything
we take for granted isn’t really
there, but inside (here); why bother
holding on to memories
of the people you haven’t met
when that face beside you now disintegrates to nothing.
Even yours, smiling as it’s
picking words and touching
your sad hands, mascara pens or other ******
“mistakes” you’ve made.
I am ashamed and not guilty
free from sin and not devout; I watch every drop of sunshine
Boil in my head and horrifyingly
Evaporate.
This empty planet is a hot ***; that’s how I know
we are both, in each of our solemn refusal to cling to
willingness as virtue or
consume yourself with habit—yes I know,
eternal subjectivity, which is both you and me
is cooking up a stew,
and that regardless if you know it
one day my boiling water
will be inside of you

MMXI

Sansara Justinovich Mar 2011

My Day?

now--
i'll be here a while
falling like a star
people of the big brown sun
looking in your eyes
from the airtrain window
in the middle
of a song about
bonnie and clyde;
what's in a prayer,
if i ever leave this world?
you're alive
--this day belongs to you

MMXI
Thanks for asking
http://www.youtube.com/view_play_list?p=97BE8DF295DE4026

Sansara Justinovich Mar 2011

The Rules

We’re
Red
                                Gree
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen

Yellow; dot. dot. -- lines:

Unendless; Beginningful.
Every evening sunrise awash in morning
                            rush-tide
sea-gates creaming
              streams flew into
                                            serenades remorse
what of every beaten vessel on the concrete highway ribbon
That crashed down beneath the overpass
That splashes
                       That ebbing
Of sirocco heart valves and
attitude.---------------------------------------Whoa!
                snap through
                ****** palms, exit ramps
like reigns.

Sansara Justinovich Feb 2011

Sansara

I read the news today
                                            Oh boy.
                                                              About a lucky man who made the grade.
And though the news was rather
                                                                  Sad.
                                                                            I just had to laugh.
He blew his brains out in the car.
                                                                    He didn't notice that the lights had
Changed.

MMXI
Tell the Beatles I love them.
And you can't tell me it's not art.

Sansara Justinovich Feb 2011

Conversations with the Dead

Five:
Chairs surrounded by one empty table
they too, free and unassuming
Empty.
Contents seized by ceramic tray of ash
bolster snow
inside; cold, hard wire support beams
--talking-- pass snow through.
Unseen pale ceramic-- butts, extinguished, moist
musty, odor-- silent, blanket
white, soft petals of
Spring between
wire spokes
of five good friends.

MMXI

A patio in pre-spring midplains. An empty society.