will you ever
there are times in the past
and there are times in the future
and there are times in the now
all bent with space
on miracle of MIND
to tell the difference
when making them out
and you
invent yourself
from time to time

but they are all ONE
vibrating along
danse macabre of energy
as a matter of live everything

slow down
the future



how do you calculate this?
do you count hands?
or do you investigate the content of whatever was below in the food chain
and got trapped in their bellies afterwards
maybe legs?
do you go by sets
per item
or maybe per live breath
thrown away
and left
with no live body to claim?

how do you calculate
the joy
of human cost
spent ?

Beast of Babylon
answer them !

any chance

I am bound
to start toward the doorway
and while nothing stops me
I have just been going through intentions
instead of real time
of my life span

do I
by any chance
have a way about me that leads
to the doorway
do I
have a problem at following myself
at times
one too many
for my linear mind


I use my name for lack
of a better lie
better excuse for description
that fits mind of the Closure
and fights for my right to last and quiet ceremony
of standing out
as Light
when dawn hardly breaks the skies above

It is the lonely projection
I can seize and belong to
without drowning in doubt
as to whom I speak to
when left alone
by myself
I labor on image of cold
petrified silence
slowly invading abyss
of the Word

It is then that my face
begins to take on contortions from Depths
anguished to look down the bottomless me
I cry
for solid ground by God’s will
for a better place
waves of humanity
follow to Hell


My sanity

in case
you’ve never heard how I lost
all my sanity

fucking sanity just dissolved out on me
seems gone from my system
whatever was left of it
that I shared anyway
with the whole fucking world

I wasn’t even mortified
I packed my bags earlier
beads of meat
on a string of hostile time
manipulated events
and crimes
as this world
it watched me go
running in circles of rigor mortis and live
bloody cough

resurrection isn’t anything serious
God knows
I took
my shot


when I was little
I would push my face into a pillow
hiding my breath
for starfield would become the air I needed
I called it
awakened air of Milky Way

when I got older
I would learn
of many words and how to speak them
not only to my self
imaginary books would fall by hundreds
through opened windows of the Universe

how come I’ve never  read a passage
on being homeless here
the bluest planet
the hollow Earth
on carpe diem missing sense
in all remaining seconds

and now of age
I am finally home
thus turning into space again
in quiet death I am shared alone
with everything by all

By being born

by being born
we are
so much smarter than immortals
we know
passage of time is not
a miracle

we know
feeding this life
takes a lot of days and a lot of nights
we take chances
wherever we can find them
hidden in wait
just for us
astonishingly passing by

there is nothing I can tell you
that you already don’t know
and then
there are choices
to expand after
and before

everything is spoken

Venus asleep

you sleep
and I wake your dreams for you now
fossils of touch preserved in madness of heart
insignificant traces of light
and pain
which I am
when not around

you wait
eight years have passed
eternity for stars
that only shine
when I am around
reflected in your eyes

love has never had its price so high
as I wake the dreams
over and over my half
myself undying
clown of that reflection
walking the demons afar
and us apart
in the only possible lack
of any coherent direction

Here it comes

and here comes
of hidden skies
The One
the bird of pray
the feathered fright
in all of us
the falling Sky
we are left
with few dilemmas of dubious importance
or are we
as always


at the funeral of all familiar worlds
is the weeping mother of all lies
it touches you
to hurt
or sings its siren song
down your mouth
flows her vibrant
physical force
of meaning

if one could only forget
those hidden spells
in an awakened brain
and never admit
to a  loss or longing
for blindness

but even blind
I am dancing
pain in the ass
life’s metaphore
as a matter
in tolling bells of consciousness

at the funeral of all familiar worlds
is the weeping mother of all lies
it touches you
to hurt
or sings its siren song
down and out your throat
flows her vibrant
physical force
of meaning follows

if one could only forget
these hidden spells
in an awakened brain
and never admit
to a loss or longing
for blindness

but blind
you are more of a dancing
chanting clown
usual pain to Earth and Stars
life’s metaphor
as a matter
in waking
tolling to skies
bells of selfish unconsciousness

we – the shame
to whoever they are
them, Gods
as defined by adversaries
us including