what happens
I had a boule with the naked pope last night
while the teacher was leaving
the spot stains departed, one from each other
they impregnated one another
breeding wasn’t avoidable
but sometimes it is fine to make an effort
isn’t it
the extravagance of freedom is not fasting
a frothy annoyance was overcoming me

Zašij mi woči a słucham na swětło
podkoleni so podwojitej, pokuty pak
njebě dosć a zhubi so bjezsłódna
wupławi do njewučerpajomneje młowojtosće:
pornografiski wokomik wušwarnenja po bědźeńčku
hłowatki z čestnej njewjestu,
njemdre prudźenje wokupka wurunuje ekwilibrij
njetajenosć so zahnaje, zamkny so do kluća.
Pyrrhus strowi. *

Let’s have a puke now
the sausage truth is real
purification, neither retaliation nor admonition
genuflection to all the Elysium whores
what a goo!
ready for the influx

Přewzaty wot wulkoh’ ducha
zmotykuju so přez nóc.
Bleša nihdy njedótkny so městna,
hdźež lisćik zastupny ma móc.

We hłowje mojej katedrala
rozbuchnjaca swětliwosć...
zawjednica za mnje spěwa
dopław słódna njemóžnosć.

Ze zadka křidle zrosćetej a
z čoła dyri rohisko...
znošuju so na měsačk,
w nopje mozowina wari so. **
T. Flaka

Dead sun supernova
merged all to an amorphous clot
un-unravelled composure beyond
the pivot was disjointedly perforated to death
back to the self entailed responsibility that
never was obtained

I neglect the all regrets
blunt is my pretension

“[…] How many ideas – how little memory…
the latest thought already murdered by
the expectancy of the next [one]…” J. Kerrigan
Too many thoughts, too many whims but
I’m not a bit keen to explain any longer.
Unleashed in chains I am but causeless

The lifeliner achieved an avisionary location
We’re immersed into the incident of purpose
The repudiation of the presence shattered
perpetual screenings spread out

“[…] The calm is an awfully [filled] sorrow because
thoughts are killing always peacefully. […]
Where darkness copulates with the pain
and feeling disappears to haze…” T. Flaka
And so many four letter words:
hope hate love life fuck
{někotři třipismikarjo: abo ale nic pak fuk} ***

The pivot was disjointedly perforated to death
un-unravelled composure beyond
and then there’s nothing left to share

sew up my eyes, i’m listening the light
knee’s hollows are doubling, atone for nothing
flavourless cinnamon slips away;
disappearing into the inconceivable nebula:
the pornographic moment of reconciliation,
post-brawling, between stem and leaves,
impetuously flocking acquisition offsets the
insincerity curing througout locking the key
Pyrrhus salutes

Infiltrated by the spirit
I am stumbling through the night.
Where(n)ever bottles lit me,
two tickets inaugurated sight.

Inside my head rose a cathedral
an explosion out of light...
for ears mine just siren’s singing
yet, no ashorance tonight.

Out of my ass two wings are growing,
out of my forehead antlers, outbursting...
far towards the moon i‘m soaring,
inside skull brain’s overcooking.

some threeletterers: but not ore lse end

(Bož, 1999/2003)


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