exotic landscape
Saturday. we are 7.8 billion
old dresses – I sell them on the railway track
once the eastern border of an empire with
ogival vaults and crenellated turrets
white, freshly washed, one misses a strap
another, brackish algae green,
bearly keeps its frayed hem. I sell them cheaply
it’s winter in the margins and knotholes
I also have photo frames, fake pearls, worn-out plush toys
let’s sell everything:
the parents, the fatigue, the sacral residues
let’s go to the centre, where
the orthogonal lines accelerate
like thousands of freight trains
it’s snowing in Sahara – a soft egg with its shell
incompletely calcified
.
prayer
the bare feet walk in your footsteps
on salt, water, and fire
lianas and bats spring out of my thigh
breasts burst with root stalks, fish and honey
three hearts are crossing your path
let’s take our offspring to kindergarten
feed them stories, tulip bulbs
the battlefield will blossom, polychrome
like a painting by van Gogh
father, give us our daily bread
the bacteria of happiness
and forgive us our trespasses
words last longer than flesh
.
the time to come
I light a candle
throw the match in the grass
it’s biodegradable, isn’t it?
like the dead
rotting more vividly
than they lived
I look around, no father nor son
not even the holy spirit
today
only an iris
Florentina blue
its leaves sharp
like a high-carbon steel sword