Pater noster…

Stabbed, with wounds as wide as sentences awaiting to be read, almost eternal gods on trial for emotions never their own. Darts flying all over boards looking back and forth every arm eying high towers of fake mahogany… Dabbers have long dried out from above every inch of tainted prayers, sent images of cast gold … Continue reading Pater noster…

Damaged goods…

My mother, pulled the trigger over my head, leaving deep patterns of blue, motionless artefacts, resembling fountains of lost youths… Amber, left cold, around pavement stones, imagined every night by owls guarding flickering souls, hiding behind shadowless candles. Darren, open the window, my son, and let us dance, like none of us has ever danced, … Continue reading Damaged goods…

Defiant hopelessness…

Nobody’s making attempts anymore to stir a peace of roses. Individual daffodils and bunches of sage challenge shields of rage hidden under profaned altars of compromised innocence; piled mountains of drowned chariots awaiting another exodus to chase… I nearly fell for you Delilah, but I am blind you see, incapable of discerning between a hairdresser … Continue reading Defiant hopelessness…

In nomine patris…

An angel once told me, that castles of sand never die; each grain’s being washed ashore other isles, carrying whispers of hands having caressed breasts of lovers long gone… You king’s lusting lips cannot condemn you Esther… His tongue’s still tasting sweet nectars, drops of gold, diamonds of your passion’s unforbidden fruit… One day, when … Continue reading In nomine patris…

Barley fields…

There will be times, when mothers shall kill their children, for breakfast, with long statements about short shelf-life dairy products, aged in old casks soaked of cheap bourbon… My mother did just that one selfish morning, with wings wide open of bats long dried under suns never known unto the sons of men… My father, … Continue reading Barley fields…

Ribbons, blue…

So many times, the roads to downtown nowhere collide at each and every corner, with blue, ribbon-like rivers of solitude; statements of facts about state of the art, lost or found pieces of a hard won peace of mindless thought lives.   Ta-ra-ra-bum-tara, ta-ra-ra bum-tara…   Marching bands of nonsense, we are. Each and every … Continue reading Ribbons, blue…

Genesis…

Stay with me, little angel, closer to thought. Careless reminder of deep patterns of asphalt, grey, laid at each street’s corner, forgotten by traffic lights and wardens. No one sells tires anymore… Only horseshoes, either too small or too narrow for the inhuman centipede called life. Every night, wildlings of old crawl into cobwebbed wombs … Continue reading Genesis…