MADNESS OF A SLEEPING HORSE

From South to North poles in a public void

[mysleepinghorse]

Bend it

until you are not sure if you are dreaming

[mysleepinghorse]

Language not spoken

We’d pick a sign for each other

A symbol of you 

Through the eyes of me

Here in this place

At this time

We’d develop a language

We’d developed a language

Which seemed to be one of the worst.

Pandemic.

Not at the right time 

In each other’s life

Not at the right place

Where we feel there is nothing to give

Nowhere to go

Nothing to feel

Nothing to say

Beauty is in the eye of beholder

They say it’s is a killer of a sentence

I’d say that’s all we had

We’d share photos of tattoos 

to communicate 

when we thought of each other 

in better places

[mysleepinghorse]

Last message

Venezia, TT

This is how I saved you(r)

Number

Is not 12

Its 90

Minutes and seconds of hugging.

The movie would be

Not knowing if

You are high

its dissociative identity disorder

You are actually meeting someone

Like a modern jesus

Like a monk on meth

Like someone normal

A ticket that dissapears in a vending machine

A Schrodinger day ticket.

And at the end there would be a flag

For all of it, in

ˈfyo͞oSHə

Not because of the color,

Beause of the sound.

[mysleepinghorse]

Simona

For all those times

When we sat in the balcony

Connecting the dots in concrete

Looking for faces

In our panties.

The Passion of the Christ

We went from Matera

Sharing a towel

For a blanket

Feet to faces

Sleeping together.

How we left each other

For a night of adventure

For love

For family

For brushing teeth in the airport.

And I knew since I met you

On a bus in September

That your big eyes

Saw trough me

Tarot cards that I dealt with.

In the good times

And the times we lit a wrong side

of the last cigarette

We would find one another

Even though it meant

Walking in 46 size shoes

Of a handsome bartender.

[mysleepinghorse]

Teacher

This year I promised to write more often, or in fact, regularly.

Today the daylight looks ready for this, seems encouraging, inviting to stand against my fears or criticism. Though I have to admit it still feels so uncomfortable to lay down words on a paper. I even can’t think of something digital. Hell, but I can think of hundred reasons not to do it, such as limited vocabulary or a lack of sophisticated expressions. This whole idea becomes dull, stupid and “who do you think you are”. As if paper would be more personal and private. Well, when you think of it, it really is something only you have for yourself. Anyway. 

When I thought of writing I remembered how I struggled at school. When I would spend days procrastinating in sorrow with something heavy on my consciousness – a critical book analysis. And when I would think I wrote a masterpiece review of White Shroud, my literature teacher gifted me with 6 (out of 10). Worse, she would give me another chance – to rewrite the review and get a better grade. That meant to reinterpret the book or reinterpret the masterpiece my mind created. At that time, without thinking my pride would be hurt, but ego could not accept 6. Another days of mental rape. And then 8. Again, for that brilliant article of mine. That would repeat for many times.

And today when I look at this light and take a notebook I think of her, my literature teacher. How I texted her once I got my national exams’ results and she suggested to go for a walk to our nearby small groceries store. It was a peaceful summer’s evening and the sun was about to set adding a filter of content yellow on everything. She used to walk slowly and to limp a bit. We talked about some not important things on our way. She kept her light smile all the time. The one I always remember when I think of her face. And when I mentioned that one percent that I didn’t get. Once percent that kept me from being perfect at that time, she kept smiling at me.

She was often not understood or laughed at while walking and leaning back to walls of school’s corridors or passionately lending a DVD of “The Idiot”. I think she’s been a great teacher, not only in literature. It’s marvelous I’m realizing this 15 years after.

[mysleepinghorse]

Megrez

Hey oh

How did I forget my favorite song?

Hey oh

How come I only see

Business pens all around me

Meaningless and inkless for me?

Welcome back

White sheet of paper.

What’s the story you are going to tell me?

The Big Dipper

Where are you?

Have I abandoned you?

Take my bare feet on concrete

For a start.

Let me touch chilly railings

Press face to greasy glass

Collect rain from yesterday’s

Construction dust.

Stamp my forehead with last summer’s pollen

Smell ashes of smokes I’ve given up

Fall into the night 

And linger

Trough half empty windows

Unfolding leaves,

Up on resting cranes 

directing noses into the dimmest - 

Megrez

Holding chords 

To remember.

[mysleepinghorse]

Spring

I wish I would wait for you

As I wait for spring

Every year.

To be excited about the same again

And again.

Never bored.

Dear spring,

Tell me the secret about yourself - 

Would it be the same

If we were living together every day?

Can be love like spring?

Fresh. Light. Desired.

Inspiring. Promising. Romantic.

Passionate.

I’m afraid

That you need to leave me.

To stay away for a while

For me to miss you

And call a whale

To arouse the sea

And create waves in me.

I wish I would look into your eyes 

And would taste your mouth in my mind.

I want you to be my spring

For the rest of my life.

[mysleepinghorse]

Callings

There are moments

When you are up in the air

Looking down from a narrow window.

Observing Amsterdam from above in the sun:

Lines of water channels glow

And intersect with asphalt roads.

A microchip is there below

Sending joyful radiation to your soul.

A lot of people say they could endlessly look into the sea,

But as for me that light above the clouds is where I rest my mind.

And there are minutes when this inner peace

Can be found in touch of wintry wind on weather-beaten cheeks.

On the Christmas Eve I had no resolutions for upcoming weeks,

Just deleting unsuccessful photos from the summer

Till I found this one

I’ll go to Norway to cold fjords.

I’ll wake up one Saturday morning which is going to be sunny as my golden passport case.

I’ll take it, I’ll pack my warmest sweater and will head to the airport as if it would be my bathroom.

So close and so casual.

So insignificant.

I want this morning all to myself.

To leave alone for a weekend

Without anyone letting to know.

To make my own trails on rainy grass,

Stick fingers into the mud and wash my hands.

Sit still on the edge with bruises on my palms

And let my eyes melt into the sea

‘Cause by then I’ll know -

my cornerstone is that deep ocean in me.

I’ll make a picture of this,

I promise.

To change the one from above

Which is not a perfect photo,

But a loud calling.

[mysleepinghorse]

Lonely Autumn

Yellow leaves

Empty sheets 

Rocking chair

In silence grieves.

Messy room

Clothes on the floor

But there is no one

Trying to put them on.

Many bottles of red wine.

Estimating when it’s time

To roll another one 

Cherry tobacco

And taste someone.

So many flavors

In this world

But why do I choose 

The only one?

[mysleepinghorse]

Period

Whenever I'm on my period

I start thinking what if I was meant to be born as a man?

I wanna be a bad-ass guy

Make love to women and punch other guys

Tease others and get dirty

Get into the prison and jump off the cliff.

So I could return to my woman body

And start over my beautiful life

With dresses, perfumes, lipsticks

Sensual seductions and autumn vinyls

Bar conversations with a glass of old fashioned

And graceful fingers’ lifts of cigarette to the colored lips.

Not sure if I am more like Mia from Pulp fiction or 

Don Draper from Mad Men.

[mysleepinghorse]

Vanished

Night.

I try to fall asleep

I lie down on the empty sandy shore

And let the waves wash my body

Up to my head.

Ears.

 I close my eyes.

My minds are

Vanished.

So am I.

Every time I want to feel alive

I watch your mouth

Half - opened.

Lips

You are touching with your

Fingers accidentally while you are speaking.

Eyes.

Moles.

Vanished.

The beauty of separate words.

Details.

You.

A deep kiss.

Tongue.

Like first voracious sups of Coke.

Thirsty

Of you.

Think of a lemon - 

That sea in your mouth 

Vanishes.

Crashes into rocks.

It’s like you are my favorite drug.

The skin I wanna live in,

Sleep with. 

The body I admire.

Home.

My harbor.

And probably that’s bullshit

Though I think this is a poem.

[mysleepinghorse]

Chaos

Like an ocean

Chaotic but not that cold

I am on fire.

Cannot stand or keep myself

In my own body.

All running minds

They push me into madness.

Constant questions lock me in my head.

And in such sadness 

I find my psychedelic movies.

Funk and Jazz which 

Take me to rehab.

So this is autumn.

Time for getting shit together.

Time for maturity

And acting better?

Well I hope

That this is true.

That the autumn is the second New Year’s Eve.

Wait, that’s deep.

And it doesn’t rhyme 

So fuck you Eve.

[mysleepinghorse]

When it fades away

Lost fingers of breezy hair touch

Passionately dreaming about running one’s head.

Lonely lips are tired of talks.

Someone said once saw them so red and warm.

That beating pulse made the color.

Did you notice the day

When it started fading away?

Wine, cheap talks, no laughs. 

Insensitive skin. Blind sight. No smell.

No sniffing, no stroking, no tasting each other.

No naked bodies nor minds.

Any filthy lights in the eyes.

Oh I’d like you to know

How many songs I already sang. 

You know I had a horse

Sleeping with me.

Why did he stop breathing?

Or is it so loud?

Why does even him want to hide?

[mysleepinghorse]

The Walk

Every time I write because of sadness.

Whenever I get back to this feeling

I’m searching for the last sheet of paper.

Coming back to that moment.

And my sadness has a different color

Though the same song.

Just a bunch of words that cannot fit into a sentence,

Not the one I can read trough

Or organize.

So last night 

I wanted to have my own forest.

Never ending and dark.

To hide.

To be invisible in it.

To scream and cry.

The one I could leave you in

And never find.

The one I could count on.

Two cigarettes.

Wet cheeks.

Summer breeze I was waiting for so much whole year.

I cannot find my song that reflects my feeling

So I walk down the foreign forest.

And see the lights

A cloud of butterflies

The river

Loudness in the silence.

This is where I have lost you.

This is where I have found myself.

[mysleepinghorse]

Reading

Every year you are poem - older.

One row wiser,

Single page tender.

Fresh

As a new book

Every morning

I see you sleeping

In white linings.

Eyes closed

Holding things

I’ll be reading today.

I like romance mostly,

Some adventure.

Coffee & Interpretation.