We Swim Through Hair



We swim through hair,
In its whirlpools
We exchange formulae

We swim through hair
In its whirlpools
The drains are clogged

We swim through hair
In its whirlpools
Mouths full of drowned men

We swim through hair
In its whirlpools
The bottom sinks toward us
We do not notice




I live in an aquarium

Among the other piranhas

I learn to swim

To feel the small fish

To swim up near to him

And to astonish

I live and live and live

Among sharp corals and reefs

The glass walls are there

Only to prevent the sleep


when you break through

to the other side of the mirror

When you break through to the other side of the mirror


You will see another aquarium

Where piranha devours piranha

Where piranha devours piranha

Where piranha devours piranha


There is nothing but water

In the aquarium

I Am Electrified



I am electrified –

All of the earth’s volts

Penetrate me

Wrap around my neck,

Dot my back

With radiant stitches.

I am electrified –

With neon lights

The sparkle of skyscrapers

Airplanes twinkling

The flutter

From your computer.

I am electrified –

In microschemes I count

Sunsets and sunrises,

Which occur all at once

When the mechanized watches have stopped –

I am electrified.




They will take your picture again
In this kitschy sunset
Among monolithic cliffs and mists of smog
For a pretty Japanese postcard.

They will take your picture again
And will scan the iris of the eye,
There a lonely old man with burned legs
Looks through the window of his hospital room.

They will take your picture again
Colorful Fuji blocks
Immortalized in USB
Perhaps – first like a gay man,
Sad ly sipp ing mojitos.

They will take your picture again
A New Age story
So much blood on the keyboard
Maybe it’s just ironic

That after traveling all night through myspace
You only found a single star
Crumb ling with hardcore
Experimental screams

a soothing melody

Freud’s Dream



In the jungle never were days barren of touching

panthers, cobras, tigers –

treading licking in golden frames.

A thick nectar pours from the depths of intoxication

with butterflies, dragons from the east it flies


During your childhood you met many fantastic beasts

Lynx rubbed against your legs,

Snakes whispered sweet little words,

Adorned in scorpion beads.

During adolescence you began to shun your acquaintances

And learned to sleep with a loaded weapon under your pillow

All of your beloved having turned into

Monkeys bounding in wilderness.

When you became an adult, when it receded like a shadow

A shadow, having grown still,

You do not see dreams at all and sleep with a weapon

Placed at the end of your bed.

Film Scenes



Sometimes film scenes seem sharper than



in them skyscrapers explode

and people, even after a huge catastrophe occurs

kiss warmly and passionately,

not counting

their last seconds of oxygen.

Though sometimes –

and you’re not a more ordinary

hero –

you leave the house having not turned off the gas,

not having greeted your neighbor


loo –

your film runs out.

Before the setting sun sets you still want to

direct the scenes, to cut out the most disillusioned,


someone over there, by the television

really likes your





When you stood up wearing skinny jeans
And white converses
Your black hair was falling down
Onto concrete floor of contemporary art center
Maybe it was just a shadow of it
But I already knew you –
You’ve come from disappearing country
You’ve come from disappearing tribe
Constantly witnessing decay.

We were also almost disappearing from each others’ sight
In the dusk of gallery hall,
But then you asked somebody to turn on the light,
Because you won’t see more these faces in front of you, –
That was your explanation.
My face was one among those faces
And maybe I could be almost deleted from your memory files,
But somebody turned on the light
And the table to where I was sitting was illuminated first.
I am placed at your palm, my future lover.

You are reading poetry about hands –
How do the same hands might be Nightingales,
And the same hands can be a gun trigger pushers,
How the same hands born a wish to feed somebody
And the same hands born a wish to kill somebody.
I am also borning from your hands –
From squeezing my handbreadth, wrist and an elbow,
Consolidating your fingers’ knots on my hand
And then touching my red cheek with your fist.
You smiled saying:
You’ve got some sun, darling.

Yes, love, I got burned under your heating up lamp,
That’s what I would like to answer, but it was too early to realize it myself.
As if I was keeping my fire matches for myself in order not to burn them all
At once, in order not to transform the sun into solarium.

It’s just the beginning of our light stretch.
When time becomes flatten and flows in
The horizon of sunset.
The beginning.
When motorways of light years are finally crossing
And allowing us to encounter each other.