in his eyes there are melting glaciers
saying, we shall come visit you soon
roll down the stairs, lie on your bed
kiss your frozen toes
yet we are colder still
peace comes from our mouths
colder than ourselves
be quiet, we'll know where to go
in his eyes there are all the drinks
I have ever spilled
rums of joy, bears in boredom
the wellwhynot wines, the heywhatup cognacs
litres and litres of tales of which I say,
I forgot
because they'd be painful to tell
these eyes do not allow drowning in them
they demand forever loyalty
and living
I need that money
she was always thoughtful and sad
swanky at times
not pale in the daylight
glowing mostly
often missing things that could be
bigger than the idling brains on her
bookshelf, though those friendly
socks on the floor could also
be the thing
and if she if she if she
tripped some shrooms, then
her hands, always cold, from above
were accusing and big
so that the guests got scared
but homies kept on drinking
the vodka found in the sink
“you are the girl who puts me to smile”
had that and that and that
man told him
and she and she and she
did not make much of it
because it really did still mean
that she could draw them
until an orgasm
sometimes I stare at her
straight, and think how to make her smile
no, really smile
but on her lips she sticks
my favourite clihcé from a movie
“hey, don't you get it
I need the money“
Friday
the summer was rainy and the bees left him
like leave those in a hurry to go away
to a place many great things have been heard of
but no way is known
almost like a squeaking herd of rats behind a sexy
(well, musicians are sexy!) piper away from the town
to a river
or rather to an insecticide-free field of rape
anyway, the bees had left him and it seemed that
suddenly he had enough time for whole shelves of books
enough for hundreds of beers
enough for the unceasing demand of hips drenched in desire
the summer was rainy and the bees left him
like left those you'd want in their moment of leaving
say something encouraging but could not find words
like it often happens to hashish smokers: so many
possible wordings that to choose between them
would be violence
the bees left him on a Friday
and he was resting
guilty somewhat, since God
still had a day's work ahead
the soothsayers
I remember we met
every Sunday in the attic at my place
our palms crimpy
even dared not breathing because it
was holy
yes, even then we knew that holy
was worth dying for
through suffocation, for example
you have a bowl cut like your brothers
I still wear those Adidas pantaloons
- no, we're still not breathing -
my neck's against the glass wool
bristling from the wall, and I know
that I won't sleep at night because
my head is on fire as if Herostratus
- so long dead, yet still getting hits,
the bastard – had paid a visit
but now it's holy
Baruch ata Adonai
oh, now lain before us
it speaks
we take out our pens
and slowly breathe in at last
new lines become filled
you always paint the title and I
admire our creation
our Holy Book
BEST FRIENDS TOP 5
five chosen ones each week
our new code of conduct for a week
new best friends to backward roll in the face
during the big recess
we are, of course, always number ones for each other
but next week we'll roll to the face
of Number One Kadri
and change stickers from and for her only
I remember how in time we came to understand
that our words do not have such strength afterall
Kadri bored being our friend and my dog died
even though I had declared him immortal and confirmed this
with a signature
and I remember that I didn't remember any of this for a while
being afraid to get lost in the lies of the holy words again
but it sufficed when a sleepy prince called me out
and I wanted to give him all my stickers just the same
and I said for him
but he pulled in front him a curtain
we walk after our desires
seldom by our words
saying this and that
so that our companions would know
we are in this together
