because i always see you all giddy

fidgeting with her ring

texting her in class.




why was i any different?

I often try to hide the tears that

                              f
                          l
   ­                           o
                          w
                              .

   ­              When really there is no reason.
            
                                  For to

                                                     c
                                                r
             ­                                             y

                 ­                                               when reading a beautiful poem -
                                                                ­                              
                                                     is even more wonderful than dreaming.

I hear you talk,
I see your lips moving.
The shape of your mouth forming letters after letters.

I smile and agree.
Eyes crinkle with mirth,
My voice booms in the space between us and the silence of the universe.

I see you,
I hear you,
But do I really?

I'm there, but I'm not.
I feel, but I don't.
I smile, when I feel pain
And I talk when I'm not sure what to say.

It's not me you're talking to,
But my body responding to you,
Like an autopilot.

The phone rings,
Or rather vibrates,
As I stir my instant coffee
Because my Keurig is broken
And I haven’t gotten around to replacing it.
The lady on the other end
Of the call
Says she’s with the bank.
She’s selling identity theft protection subscriptions.
I listen to her
Explain
What that is
With mild excitement growing in my stomach;
Not with regards to the
Subscription,
But over the
Tones and intonations —
The way she breathes:
Softly,
Warmly,
Unconsciously.
I let her run with it,
Feigning curiosity at first.
A question here,
There,
To really get her going.
I wonder when she was last ******?
She asks to verify my name,
Address.
She mentions a credit score package
(Ooh la la)
That will provide me with insight as to whether my identity has ever been
Stolen.
(This call
Is getting steamy)
She tells me that in order to receive the package I need to confirm my enrolment in the subscription.
‘What?
Could you repeat that?’
I can feel it
Tickling,
Licking,
My soul,
As I sip my ****** instant coffee.
I tell her
That I absolutely won’t enrol,
That I refuse,
But that she should be a voice actor
Or that if she was a voice option for Siri
I would surely select her.
She doesn’t have a response,
Choosing to wish me a good evening instead,
And to thank me on behalf of her employer.
‘No,
Thank you dear.
Call this number whenever you like.
I don’t want your talents to go unappreciated by other customers
Who I’m sure are all swines.’
Click.
I stare at the ended call
And fantasize about your voice,
And when you were last ******.
Too bad the coffee is ****.

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 11/9/2019

From boulder to boulder, I was standing on a fragile plank
that separates light from darkness, death from life,
over the huge explosion of the precipice foamed...
Below me, the roar and beating of the wings of a dark night.

Through the moist floor of the moss tapestries, the abyss
is growling and, like a hound, rattling with the chain...
At my feet its foams, its anger, its howling...
I trample them, I strike them with lightning bolts... I am just a shade.

From boulder to boulder, I've descended under the mad assault
of waters, ferociously rushing at me and at the the abyss,
stunned by the simultaneous firing of a hundred death's guns.

And suddenly I felt like a light bird feather,
carried far away from the quiet marina by the breeze,
and trembling, I covered my eyes... I was just daydreaming.

Maria Konopnicka (1842-1910)

therupetic monologue
                                  that taunts as its teaches
singing it's song at tooth's breadth
                                     To my sordid chest.

in the mirror my ****** features distant
        And zoning,
                              Try to love myself and a las,
I love you like chaos loves the silence.

Concrete morning swings along the window pane
   and ushers in a dreary reminder: not to get lost if

You're iffy on your
                                way back home.