In the Mayan Calendar

………………………………

IN THE MAYAN CALENDAR

 

As in the Mayan calendar, the years gone by
Add up to zero
Signifying nothing more than an empty shell.
Our existence
Is equally insignificant
Or the same fulfillment –
Depends on how you look at it.
 

………………………………

I Am Electrified

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.

Fuji

FUJI

 

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
Of…

a soothing melody

Freud’s Dream

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

away…
 

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.

Dream Poem No. 3

DREAM POEM NO. 3

 

Let’s build a tent in the yard.
Let’s occupy the territories.
Let’s share it.
Let’s built the towers of sand,
 

Let’s destroy it together.
If we play, we play,
If we lose, we lose,
If we win, we win.
 

Occupying each other
Doesn’t need many agreements –
If I’ll take half of your heart
Another half is still free
For old gardening habits.
If we play, we win,
If we win, we lose,
If we lose, we play.
 

We do remember by heart
What does it mean
To cut the lands as slices of bread
For so many mouths
All of them are hungry and thirsty.
If we play, we lose,
If we lose, we play,
If we play, we win.

Tower of Melancholy

TOWER OF MELANCHOLY

 

I live in a high tower of melancholy right now
At 6 am I just opened my window in order to see
If there is some sign from you and I found one.
 

There was a giant black horse in the velvet of water
Its figure appearing more clear sculptured by every wave
It was so gorgeous and beautiful until it started to
Transform into some beast with beech muzzle
And I closed my window.
 

I went to the writing desk, which was in the morning
Shadow and sat down in a mysterious mood for writing
But then all the table appeared to be present by
All illuminating light – I turned my head back to the sea
It was a big fire ball, flying inside through the window.
 

I screamed your name.
And woke up.

Film Scenes

FILM SCENES

 

Sometimes film scenes seem sharper than

life’s

chili

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

and…

loo –

your film runs out.
 

Before the setting sun sets you still want to

direct the scenes, to cut out the most disillusioned,

yet
 

someone over there, by the television

really likes your

sobbing.

Enlightenment

ENLIGHTENMENT

 

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.