What a pity,
femme fatale,
from heaven to sinking dogs.
forget about the sun,
the alley much narrower that it should be.
kept banging, fool’s errand
filled me with despair, wet blanket, not my song.
remember, Kant, with infinite made-up details,
about losing the unfamiliar things.
c’est pour toi, les hommes:
reading how to read properly
when the body is avoiding,
throwing up the cursed ones, shallowed
patted my shoulder,
oublié moi!
ask me a question,
the ones we all have and lose with our milk teeth.
while the sun,
is pale
is busy dying.
naked calves, making love with others blood butchers
for a dream of weeping sands,
on a grainy palms.
frozen nights,
the papper crown on her temple,
the perfect salute as her mouth shuts,
sluts.
I drifted by one evening, made friends with one of those ballerinas,
the next thing I know,
she was shot by the army.
red rushing, like thinning blood pudding,
the invinsible pinprick pass through her wedding dress,
into my arms,
floating
ivory sea.
before,
I carved the skies with a blunt knife
the air was thick, flesh from marigold
spraying blood all over the railway,
promises.
handkerchief hanged from a pole
as i walk, pass the bus stop,
abandoning what’s never been there.
so I turned, across the street
watching the skies of metal fences,
and I hear this words,
swim sideways
god favours the sea.
ride the right current
let it: save you
so I did,
and I never be saved.
Barorka 