Instant Poetry ( 2015,august )

  • as I did before, here`s another small „set” of instant „text” written on-the-fly, nothing was erased or eliminated or added, it`s just another working-memory trick  used in other „sessions”…Again, everything is written in 20-30 something seconds ( not much more ). This time I have cheap cheap alcohool in it ( 2 $ wine ), and it`s a summer nite and …wtf !…let`s „download/upload” something in this shitty system called „the vast internet „
  • of course, everything I usually put here is subject to being viewed from any part of the world ( and usually it is ).Again, these „poems” have somesort of a „geographical” web of points of refference, and therefore they can and will ( and always have been ) viewed in different ways.


You`ve reached that point
where the „no return” policy has become a matter of the state
everything has gone pink
for commercial purposes
we laugh together

my android eyes go blue form time to time
„it`s for your own safety”
you think
it`s for my own enjoyment

there comes the time where
„judgement day” becomes nothing but a figure of speech
reason, duty, beautifullness or glory
are pawns on someone else`s chess board

you are free now
mothers have been taking good care of yaw all

the secret has been saved

yet another round for the boys
in the back


nobody else has the right
to judge you
obtaining that as a civil duty
has gone around for centuries now

we talk again about the no man`s land
you want to water the flowers
I need to measure it right

while someplace somebody weeps over a rotten body
( it might be about themselves )

it`s exactly 15 feet from here
from some distant point of view it won`t matter
here marketing meets math
geometry has the right
to dictate where the party will be going wrong

chaos theories serve for redirecting a few tears
while measuring everything in feet
gives Mr Tool the option
to contemplate
and close his eyes
every 20 seconds

with grace


we left our defined areas
we walked the earth round and round for a hundred times now
I reached that point where I cannot recollect myself
from those millions of variations
I`v been dreaming about while re-creating

it`s been tough as it should be
romantic as it always is
cruel as it was expected
uncertain as they already needed it
and hard as they

what was important was written
what was needed was obtained
what was unknown was deduced

what we need now
is a little bit of grace
a couple of white flowers
a song

and then we rest

for a while


the poetry of „wrong”
is the poetry of life
it seems

everyone has done „wrong” a million times
it was revealed by all ancient books
written in all misterious languages and
translated into millions of copies

now „wrong” has the smell of fresh cardboard
coffee is kept away from it`s sanctity
„wrong” is revealed with caution
in the morning times between news and your old cooking show

„wrong” has become a stain in your children`s eyes
a disolution principle that will help you grow them
into beautiful pieces of organic paper

published, re-written, and then enjoyed
while the lack of that simple
question mark




no will for the damned
the collective conscience has
demanded it all
for flower picking, daydreaming and
I cannot say

no will for the damned
a million circular judgements have been put in place
for the use of those
dreamers with no particular choiches
naive with no special needs
lovers with no specific ideals
and the rest
who anyways, dream of the other rest

what about „them”
we are not talking about it
things remain hidden
darkness excuses us
lights are of no importance here
issues remain unanswered and undefined
breathing becomes a matter of your own imagination

some prizes are now being given away
by colours

truth is now idle

for the limited period of time


you think syntax has made you weak
you remained silent for the rest of the time(s)
hoping that aeternal grace will someday secretly come to you
it never happened
it never will

the circles you`ve been building for you own amusement(s)
have become tighter and tighter
at some point you can see your own face in that particular dark

welcoming you at every round
with that secret hope
you could do better
just one step further

you never did
your own hands, accomplices
your own wrinkles, maps for your own disolution
no fear, no fear
you say to yourself

there`s still that old matter
of the stardust,

that saves us all in the end

just one more round, you say
and darkness becomes
more and more
your own theory of everything

what about your eyes, I wanted to say once
nobody replied

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