redolution

my nails are red

and that’s the whorish red

it attacks eyes

and makes them tear

I like to claim

that this is how the revolution starts

with pursed lips

I get even paler

it is required by this

dramatic situation

I carry stones

in my pockets

my eyes are hungry

and wide open

sometimes I forget to blink

and allow dust to set on them

stench of the petrol

gives me headaches

when we cling our glasses

it’s like a shot from the gun

like a distant explosion

like an echo from another time

later on we all die

in our sleep 

aleph/tav

you pack your things

and there is less and less

air that you've breathed out

I watch you from the corner

if asked - I pass to you

books

shirts

thoughts

you pack your things

and it almost seems

that you are building a golem

together we carve

a sign of aleph on its

forehead

it will protect you

when I am not there

you pack your things

I attach an old clock to my chest

it will ring when the time

comes.

tea

silence prolongs

and we sit immobile

with only our reflections

dark and out of shape

dancing on the window glass

I look at the empty cups

and not quite fairly

I blame them for this silence

I focus all my attention

on the kettle

you light another cigarette

to hide behind the smoke

[kʌnt]

my mouth is filled

with the darkness

and thirty two teeth

I nod to everything

and I am very agreeable

in my absence

I sit back to back

with myself

and we merge into

each other

unity of free will

and determinism

I can’t hear any of you

through all the commotion

my rattling mind

makes inside

my head

I can’t answer to any of you

my mouth knows only

the shape

of the swear words

and how to howl

I rather stay in this

dark room

with these

dark eyes

with the dark sky above me

and the darkness within me

butterflies

it starts somewhere

inside

like stomach rumble

somewhere between the liver

and one of the kidneys

in the darkness

that only blood can give

in the explosion of haemoglobin

to the rhythm of the heart

it ascends

and when it reaches

solar plexus

it becomes cold

and bitter

when it gets to the throat

it is hard to breathe

it is hard to swallow saliva

it is hard to keep your eyes

open

it forces itself

through the clenched teeth

and pushes all the air outside

so loud

and so long

inarticulate sound

form one

stripped of everything

scream

…

thousands of butterflies

move their wings

slow-motion

everything slowed down a bit

- my breathe

- my heartbeat

- the way my hair

grows

everything slowed down a bit

silenced itself

became solid as concrete

and now my face

crumbles with every

blink

cracks

and changes into dust

everything slowed down a bit

inhale and exhale

lasts eons

and only cigarettes

always seem too short

everything slowed down a bit

and I try

with my cold fingers

to arrange my lips

into a smile

my foot moves

in the rhythm

that imitates my pulse

Sunday

Sunday.

taken away from the world.

because the world is.

and there are streets.

and there are bridges.

and buildings.

people inside

and in front of them.

sun pierces the sky

sunrays

touch the ground

and our frozen

breaths.

we ride buses

talk

and stay silent.

every word is needed

every pause – necessary.

sundown.

day comes to the end.

the world still is.