outside spaces

…white lines
look like parallel lines
traces that never intersect
grey snow on black asphalt
city, outskirts, periphery
heavy flakes like manna from heaven
are falling slowly and rhythmically
on shoulders of the rare passers
shoulders are
bent
hunched
twisted
rare pedestrians
who tried in vain cross this city
they come out of skyscraper in the morning
in one of the outskirts
with the secret hope that in evening
they will come in empty elevator
in another skyscraper in other edge
north, south, west, east
are frontierless imagined conventions
in this city
where practically impossible
find ten differences between
various parts of landspace
a trip in the city is good only because it
allows us to forget
but it is bad because
our road has its beginning
it will inevitably end in its deadlock ...
August 16, 2015

freedom
it is always light
light of thought
light of words
light of passion and desire
…we were free
under the dim light of the moon
and under the glare of the sun
when we come out of our caves
and our dirty holes
for depress in
dull and monotonous landspace…
…we were free
when our path was illuminated by torches
and bonfires where we enthusiastically
with rage, fury and passion
burned our opponents
or books
until we realized that it is possible
to combine burning of books with roasting of their authors…
…we were free
when invisible force of electricity
somewhere in unknown depths of the walls
metal constructions and skyscrapers
at the behest of our lazy fingers
that in the dark were looking for switch
gave rise to bright light…
…we were free
when light was in us
light the passion
the pursuit of
light of wanderlust…
..now electrical god
methodically and meticulously
turned off and unplugged
all switches that he could
and darkness came
darkness as form of mental blindness
darkness is filled with bright colours and shades
it is only needed to look and realize
what it is bright and colourful
but we can not
we so long stayed under the bright light
that can no longer see the light in the darkness...
August 16, 2015

every single day
over seventeen years
I walk down the same street
where rhythmically and methodically
I fix its slow agony
if someone tries to eradicate
all objects on Earth’s firmament area two miles
if all these objects are only seasonal spots
on the city body that is overgrown…
I remember that there was a store
and there supermarket stood
beer bar was near here
and here newspaper shop was
and the dirty market
where in spring three years ago
I walked slowly in
grey water from the puddles
that were covered with a crust of ice
I soiled my dirty shoes and jeans
I saw the faces of the vendors
and it seemed to me that
it is not a market on the post-city outskirts
but it was a fish market somewhere in Malaya
only five miles from the ocean
and it smells like hell threshold…
now there is nothing
only occasionally through the asphalt
memory of space and iron with dirty snow
sewage smells are calling
the city is alive
disappearance of familiar spaces
witness only about
this thing evolves
and says that smell
that the city is able to digest all of us
we can only envy to this rapid metabolism…
…my two miles are behind
now I will finally cross
the remains of the field
and only in the evening
reverse cross way
will force my memory to speak
and approximately fix that
the city was
the city is
the city will
will be forever in its leisurely journey to infinity
and we are only unwelcome companions
on this one-way road that
paved with yellow bricks…
August 16, 2015

night 
an opportunity to be yourself
but it does not matter
night
series of unpleasant memoirs
and endless meditation on
unrealized infinite scenarios
and ethereal alternatives
night
very frank hours of solitude
when I get a rare opportunity
to feel aloneness as it is in a stone cell
night
it's the  nine or the fifth floor
in some structures made of glass, stone and concrete,
but the floor number has no real value
night
time of strong tea and
hope that after waking up tomorrow
something will change
night 
time for understanding
night
time for sticky mind and trying to find
ideal language that will help me understand myself
night
light and dark at the same time
formal existentia which does not exist
night
only bright spot
between two flares of darkness ...
August 17, 2015

I do not know when it will come
but I think it can be expected at any time
it has no value for her
when to come for us
it was done so many times
that it made her feel quite indifferent
it can come in the morning,
or afternoon, evening, night
in the pre-dawn twilight
during sunset or sunrise
it does not matter
in the beer bar in the office
in the bedroom
position does not matter
bottom, top
she do not care about it
on the plane, train
a car
a splendid race car
or in an old shack
it is absolutely does not matter
or in the bus during
our daily internally
travel to work
and wandering in the reverse direction
during one more meeting
of countless, useless and senseless commission
or just in your bathroom
stumbled badly
shit happens ...
August 17, 2015

I lie and think
two meters and a half
dark and quiet
only two audible breathing
me and her
how quiet and measured she was breathing
and you think
how it will be to tell her tomorrow
to say that it is over
you think
you choose different
scenarios and possibilities
consciousness slowly becomes sluggish
she is already sleeping
and you, too, fall asleep
flips on the left side
you rarely sleep in this way
only when you sleep not alone
and this is a very rare situation
you slipped and hugged her by your hands
you are falling asleep
and losing last touch with reality
voluntarily tearing the thread routine
your last thought in the evening:
her breast is very beautiful
and then you will think and remember
her body, smell, eyes
long nights of solitude
she occasionally will come in your dreams
and when you wake up
in sweat, in a nightmare
almost shouting
you will only understand and realize
existential sticky time
memory shouts
it cannot be silent
and you just squeeze out
stifled the attack of dry cough
and next cold emptiness
wax white bed…
August 17, 2015

poetry –
most boring and stupid
not the state and art
but only determination
poetry is over and poets have died
the last one of them died recently
it was in the middle of the zero years
poetry was when poets were
when rhyme trembled in lines
now no one publishes new book of poetry
and no one reads
even students
no one needs poetry
poets became bloggers
and network writers
poetry ceased to be poetry
when we stopped writing be our hand
our fingers are no longer compress the pen
our fingers rhythmically bang on the keyboard
we sometimes do not even look on
dim light and flickering faded monitor
we lost interest in keys we push
what’s for?
we look at the monitor
process does not matter
only result is important
poems were replaces by texts
discourse quietly and slowly
unintentionally
accidentally
slew poetry
and replaced it
reckless homicide
after so many deaths
nobody paid attention
and nobody noticed
all just stupidly ignored
that this old maid
do not smoke the sky
anymore…
August 17, 2015

photography does not require
anything or something
no words, no affairs, no texts
because it is a text
and speaks to us
no sounds, no formations and no images
or bright colours
and blackness or whiteness of sun
it no longer need the light
red, blue, green
or what else is there?
black and white
filled with so deep shades
bright iridescent colours
it is better not to look at them
because it can cause blindness
glamorous naked body
silicone and cosmetics
smooth and sticky gloss
for sweaty hands
does not cause blindness
they are far from
the last bright convulsing firebolt
of dying republican ...
August 17, 2015

glamour
it is formally beautiful
for eyes and hands
if the model also agrees
but it is only formalities
beautiful model in the picture
is similar to the deceased
who visited cosmetician
in the pages of glossy magazines
and funeral advertising agencies
glamour
socially accepted and acceptable
a form of necrophilia
August 17, 2015

shades are not necessary
you do not need a rainbow anymore
the forest should not be green or yellow
sea is not necessarily blue
coloured visual perception
is a misunderstanding
only insects are doomed
to see exclusively in colour ...
August 17, 2015

I remember
heartland
only slightly lower
and it seems that we should take a left
house
near the centre
maybe heart of small town
entrance
white window frames
I am seven years old
and I am travelling
from the first floor to the fourth
from the fourth to the first
bright sunshine
breaks through the opened windows
sometimes they were closed
wandering between floors
I carefully and meticulously
I am studying sills
between the first and second floors
emptiness
the same story between the third and fourth
only between the second and third
dead bodies next to a brilliant sun window
like a dead butterfly in the last flight
limply stretched wings
but the dragonfly
sprawled on the edge
it seems to me
light and invisible wind
and she went to her last flight
under the feet of pedestrians
and in the centre
unknown to me beetle
dead body complements the landscape
and dead white space of window
near the cloudy glass
followed by the yard
which sank in the green trees
I stood and watched
thinking about new journey
between floors
or take some of them
for my memory who will
tell stories from life of insects
standing, I decided to go up again
so naturalist died in me
August 19, 2015

my former classmate from Mexico
wrote that today it was cold
I don’t know what is cold
in Mexican terms
I only know that yesterday
when I went to university
I began to feel
slow death of summer
field and vacant lot between the
university and campus
almost disappeared
dark clouds
and dirty grey clouds
the pale ashen sky
tried to give us
some signs
but we, unlike our ancestors
do not know how to read
the language of the heavens
and therefore
I drank water and went home
considering grey  surroundings
the same grey monotonous houses
and when I was
crossing the highway
and wrapping in a jacket
I said goodbye to the dying summer ...
August 19, 2015

the birth of word
it is nothing more than an unfortunate accident
words come permanently
and sometimes they chaotically form text
when I go to the university
when I am in the bus
that travel to the centre
or think about
about how I am tired fight against diabetes
the words come to me
constantly in the night silence and emptiness
in threshold of drunk dreams
in lazy, matted and sticky consciousness
in the night at the zenith
and it is only necessary
to stand up
to turn on the light
walk to the laptop
and record
accumulation of random words
but it is too late
sleep won
night is time of poets tired 
of daily squabbles and concerns
and it’s time of their dead unwritten poems…
August 19, 2015

…five point five
I do not know – I never had
this unattainable benchmark
in my imagined
coordinates system
one point eight
it is familiar to me
and repetition is undesirable
cold hands
and cotton wax
of white linen
heavy awakening like a long return from anywhere
twelve point four
it is familiar to me no less than one point eight
apathy and fear does not mean anything
just numbers, just  facts
brain nervous anxiety and depression
are no better than limp limbs during the chills
…five point five one point eight twelve point four
the order and sequence does not matter
daily statistics as an endless game
attempts to guess the number
daily injections are attempts to
influence or predict future figures
they are equivalent to injections of slot machines
I think that no one tried
but I believe that if such efforts were
they were not very successful
numerology is a system file
for or of diabetes program….
August 21, 2015


…window
i look below
i see grid, grass
walls, other windows
lights and roofs
and even deep blue or black sky
occupied the half of my panorama
I like a dwarf who mundane looks
on the world of giants
ground floor
near noise of boiling
the rustle of live electric kettle
which is close to its daily repeated
act of domestic orgasm
loud, very loud
in a loud voice
I hear talk of water
a waterfall and a whirlpool
just cover was broke off a long time ago
it lies close
kettle-cabriolet….
August 21, 2015

the first mass extinction of species
second mass extinction
third mass
fourth
dinosaurs are no longer visible
in cells or in the wild nature
someone killed neanderthals
then all was fun
the punic wars
hundred years war
war of the roses
couple of balkan wars
world war I
the second world war
humanity decided not to make a long break  between them
more than twenty years were more than enough
genocide, famine, holocaust, holodomor
nobody noticed several world wars in africa
european velvet and other coloured revolutions
it was difficult to ignore war in the balkans
buy them were ignored
tunisia, egypt, syria, iraq
but everything is suspiciously calm and quiet among chinese
they are probably atheists
it has no any significance for them
lord moved to group service
optimization and effective management
affected heavenly office
no less than the closest subway
but if subway is limited by discounts
god decided that there is no sense to wait
better to do it by yourselves and just now
than to trust his own creatures
new obituaries were hanging this morning
on the university doors
probably lord as the most effective manager
loved the group service
August 25, 2015

objects are only our illusions
born as a dream of the mind
and heat only shakes
dry desert air
and create visions and hallucinations
today I went down to the basement
my usual way to office
and I saw something like a sphinx
who lay quietly
leaning against the far wall
it was normal sphinx
but only strange in him 
was that he or she was black
nor white, nor red
but black
negro sphinx
why not?
in our contemporary multicultural world
but as I came near
black sphinx disappeared
and turned into
inverted table
and a broken chair
but the beginning was so promising ...
August 25, 2015

night
silence
silence is only a temporary illusion
cars outside my windows constantly violate it
lie in the silence – it is not better than the same in the noise
lie in silence alone – it is not better than the same with someone
and it’s probably worse
especially at night when you know that tomorrow morning
you will be object of medical analyzes
obliging consciousness proposed scenarios
staircase, windows are sealed with newspapers,
permanent repairs are particularly unpleasant in suffocating summer
courtyard, neighbouring yard
small heath
with scattered machines and cars among other dead mechanisms
and dirty garages
dormitory area
arch
supermarket is near
a bus stop is crowded with wretched inhabitants
that may cause only a sense of disgust
and social suffocation mixed with apathy and depression
bus
ten minutes of forced morning trip
registry, standard procedure
we accepts cash only
ten minutes of waiting
cabinet
prick, pain, fog,
medical spirt
rubbing alcohol has the smell of winter
or is it just an illusion of
consciousness when it is switched off
or when it is in hibernation mode
consciousness throws up surprises
and you only have time to think
that you do not assume
that it is able to joke in this way
and at this moment you are absolutely not funny
laughter is the last thing
but there is nothing from these potential events
there are only midnight games of weary mind
when weariness is mixed with excitement
throwing manoeuvres in wax of white sheets
ridiculous attempts to escape
motors of casual night cars are rhythmically talking
about something in darkness of your windows
you can hear everything
but you can not understand a single sound in their coherence choir
someone slammed the door
anticipation nights are especially dark and long…
August 27, 2015

what should modern poetry describe?
feelings, romance, love, passions, longing and sufferings?
the short list is clearly outdated
those who are still write in this way should have died a hundred years ago
or they are lost stuck between eras
what is poetry? modern poetry – the poetry of what?
process or state?
passive observation of objects and spaces
an infinite number of variations, reasonings and speculations
on and about alone spaces
changing spaces
everyday reality
that we see every day
when we go to the office
dead leaves of still living trees
old houses of young city
that is so passionate in its technical multiple orgasms
and regular attempts of suicide and self-destruction
mixed with the inevitable geological erosion
dirty garages, bad roads, glass bottles on the roadside
repeatedly used plastic
or modern poetry should be different, poetry of the process?
it is possible to describe an orgasms and marasmus
but who is interested in it?
everyone may describe a long time love,
passion, birth, death, religious and revolutionary attacks of madness
supermarkets and newsstands are crowded with writing facilities
partly because no one writes
why limit the sale of writing paper, pens and ink
if no one will guess to buy them and write anti-government pamphlet
but it's possible to write about passion, birth, death,
and even in anti-government way and style, and do it in a rhyme
but why?
what for? after so many poets
what’s about passion…. after the great ilia?
or what’s about death after Baudelaire?
and after revolution after Sespel?
fucked relentlessly rational logic condemns poetry to death
so, we understand poetry, and came closer to the final solution
poetry is only one thing among
numerous, uncountable and countless trifles
that we inherited from our not very rational ancestors 
diagnosis: museum and “Mumifizierung”
as meticulously rational compatriots of certain anonymous poets
could very competent state
…and what’s about poets? ...
August 28, 2015

…the same stages
that were last week
the road that is leading to my office
like the descent into hell
the same corridor
it seems
that nothing was changed
the same dull ceiling
the colours of dried blood
and blame tubes in carpin colour
which stretch from the ceiling
and underneath wire Internet
that carry a myriad of bytes
and invisible signals
someone is sitting in the online store
while others quietly locked
in the department and enjoys porn
students at the same time are killing it in social networks
and in front of a blank wall
common yellow wall
where a sphinx was there is nothing
only emptiness is there
sphinx also tend to fade…
August 31, 2015

…in my office
the table under the window
I sometimes look at the top
and communicates with the outside world
I see the bars
and walls
dirty walls
spots
smudges
and shades
cultural layers
no archaeological
and geological
the higher layers are still the cleanest
bordering spitting by rain and few passers
and feces of local dogs and cats
if you stand on the table
and then on the window sill
and look down
it will be possible to see
almost all annals of the geological evolution
of this man-made walls
it seems that Devonian cultures
were replaced by Mesozoic ones
if you look very closely
and your imagination will be in active regime
you can see the soviet and post-soviet stratifications
of the opposite wall
but if you look above
the university will be visible
and the roof
with rare birds and heavens
but there is nothing to say about it
besides that it tends to be volatile and change their colours…
August 31, 2015

random steps
in the void of the filling room
windows are opened
wind plays with blinds willingly
but no one else is paying attention
to these free barbaric dances
what for?
it’s his space
we are guests here
in the crowded classrooms
and empty corridors
when in the morning we go for the keys
and feeling coolness of wind through the opened window
and when in the evening
we commit final ritual circumambulation
and go away from here
we grievously feel sadness and apathy of dying day
a nagging feeling of emptiness
it seizes me at such moments
and memory in these moments is very jokes toughly 
when you look through the viewfinder of camera
I do not know
who or what does send the camera?
hand or wave of memory
what is a wave?
just is pathetic convulsions
games of memory
when it randomly picks out space images
you do not press and do not take pictures
just enough to touch the eye
she looks like her
face
and here is almost the same dress
but why almost?
it is the same
yes, exactly
I remember
it was once undone by me
for me
and I still hope
that for her also
and in the morning I watched
how she was dressing
together they have much in common
the same breed, the same suit
it seems that their childhood was spent
in the same coordinate system
the same reference points
where – she – was
word order
compilation of times or its lack
it’s just coincidence and nothing more
then I was talking with one of them
flair of anthropologist
who dreamed about career of pathologist
it did not deceive me
yes, she is almost from the places
I have thought about
When I was looking through the viewfinder of camera
similarities and parallels are….
but it does not make it less unpleasant and painful
I thought then
that I would probably be unpleasant when I will enter in classroom
where and when she will be present or absent
nothing can make my memory to keep silence
nothing… but her… or anyone from these two ones ...
September 2, 2015

…it can be assumed that it’s America
Australia, Asia and Antarctica
Nigeria, Kenya
and Russia is near somewhere
but you can believe that there is nothing
it is fiction and invention
earth is actually round
or square 
no one knows
where is located India
it may be in Asia
or in the East
or Orient
but I know
where India is
it is in the basement
when I go to the office
or I walk out of the office
on the floor between the dining room and library
there is a great spot
if you turn on your imagination
it will be India
and if you look closely
Moscow will be somewhere near
it's just a terrible geography…
September 7, 2015

new gods came into our musty caves
they cut the windows
and we saw the world
we heard the noise and hubbub of the foliage
infinitely long conversations of trees
we heard the noise of motors
cough old engines
the world outside the windows was more diverse
than we could imagine
and it was the beginning of a tragedy

gods like drunken shepherds
with buckets in their hands
go up and down
down and up
wine is always very deceptive
their hands were shaking
the poor gods were dancing in convulsions
and they paint spills
thick drops were flying down
and generated new ones
hitherto unknown
earths, continents and lands
gods were the first geographers
which create landspace
and we can only
provide it with new meanings

my knowledge of the world
used to be very vague
when i came down from cave
i knew that between two other caves
there was a spot
it was very similar to the island
and i was ready to believe that it is an island
the island was one
in complete isolation
now everything has changed and become another

my way is now dotted with islands
these little dots
when i go in the morning there are a few of them
and in the evening there are more of them
it is very difficult to argue with
geology and geography
and when they join forces
new countless worlds
continents, lands and islands
will appear and disappear unexpectedly
some gods came
the other gods were gone
just trodden here and escaped
their working day also ends
sometimes

transparent walls are in our caves
but the land is not enough for the gods
the heat, but the transparent walls are white
it seems that the snow was falling for days
but this is an illusion
we are waiting for the rain
to wash away our dreams about winter

december
winter is at the doors as death
in different robes of wandering employee from postal company
old year slowly and painfully is agonizing
autumn dies in rain, snowfalls and spontaneous warmings
unopened envelopes are stacked neatly at the edge of the table
several empty bottles are standing at the trash can
windows are opened like a spring in the streets
or in a hot summer on its zenith
i hear the sounds rain outside the window
it will wash away all traces of the recent autumn agony
autumn, rest in peace

…evening and cold deserts
among the skyscrapers
two realities
available to me
in sensation
in perception
lonely island of light around towering pillars
this stone and glass desert
lonely homecoming
one of the many sad travels
in compony of the shadow
which relentlessly pursued me
until I entered the wasteland
the rest of my journey ended in complete solitude
in the dark and cold
when I closed the door
heavens opened its gates
and the earth was covered with snow…

…cold and rain
as two integral features of early spring
in a huge city by the sea
…margin
shopping arcades, dirty alleys
persistent smell of dirty water
wind carries it from the sea
the smell dirty fish came from shopping malls
…night, the streets are deserted
dead sockets eye of windows come alive
…invisible red and yellow eyes of cities
become visible only in the darkness and gloom of night
…twist stop
hurrying pedestrians especially at night are too alone
in a city which is crowd with others as they
…lights, lights of advertising,
neon bright flame of alone edge pharmacy
…he and she come to it
I come after them
he went to the box office
alone
I do not see her
…he busily chooses condoms
they went out together
…I buy insulin and went out
in the darkness of the seaside night
with its winds and occasional frosts…
…what’s a fucking shame and prejudice?
They fighted for rights during a century
century of liberalization provided them with rights
but she preferred to send him for condoms
…what’s fuck?
she could see what he would insert it in her
fucking logic faded before shame ...