Requiem for a mosquito, may your spirit rest upon these toxic fumes


1

I love your milk colour, nearby madhouse,
I love your fatuum traitors cry,
To Now or Once, to hellholes or sneak thieves
Which summons the harlots of Time.

Pull the drains, sewer bunnies.
may your spirit rest upon these toxic fumes,
I love your shiny little bumps, your aggro,
Simply… I love your shaft.

The Belgrade on Krnjača*
screwed up its sewage line to
contaminate the crime scene.
with raw sewage.

The Wraith will come dragged along the floor
Belgrade, you are an asylum in the open river
while sailing on a burning duvet

2

To Kunst for homeless god
to Happiness and vindictive mosquitoes
to calls of local bar hopping slut.
and fine Sers missing communal apartment.

Spraying for mosquitoes!
are you my executioner?
you’ve disarmed the vengeful mosquitos
itching
cursing
a short-tempered star
a lightning strike
frost in dictionary

And soon.. all these years
seem just like a blink
of the bite.. inseminated…
earthquake!

Don’ t get nervous phantom of the
birthplace shores.

Requiem for a mosquito
and soon, your music shall come,
some slacker roadkill shall come,
plastic heart shall soak it all in.

Like ammonium nitrate…
3
To add mincemeat out of the filthy Ser
mix mixture carefully into medicinal
soup
For Hannibal.

Poke and doodle
In the pokey, up to the rectum river,
then
plant yourself like a squatter

And… put some ice in the urinals.

 

*Krnjača (Serbian CyrillicКрњачаpronounced [kř̩ɲat͡ʃa]) is an urban neighborhood of Belgrade, the capital of Serbia. It is located in Belgrade’s municipality of Palilula. (source: Wikipedia)

From the diary of a mad writer after…/ the shot


Soon it will all be over. Damn them, the reversed optics of my intracranial madness are picking up the pace. I am no longer a woman, but a macroscopic particle. A peg-top. Call me Peg-Top. This I will do so suddenly, so feverishly, and yet so calmly, my hand will not quake. I will lightly lean forward, legs spread to the width of my shoulders, yes… Calm your body. Aim carefully. Pull the trigger. Take a deep breath. Aim, pull, calm…calm…

Beside absurd begins the strategy.
The wheels of the little machine drill,
She! Grinds the finger rolled in gunpowder with the trigger
Like in the dough,
Illuminates the brain with destructive noise.
May they fire, the clerk murderer should fire and all those others
Who will after the shot carry me out in pieces.

The witch grandmother song


Not far from the witch grandmother song
nymphomaniac and satan
In the cloud of thought, the voice and the body merge.
who wanted death
to the grandmother of north-eastern Siberia?

I could not dream
because I was never awake
I couldn’t believe it
because I knew I could not stand
what I saw I felt, with experience

Just like you will thank me
for I will not bring
my story
my life
Tell me: thank you for that.

Because we do not go through the minefields.
that does not concern us
complete innocence is not among the martyrs
but between the oppressors and the suspicious faces.

A red vigilance spills
scars that are stuck inside.
and collected at a point
that will blink deep inside of me
the only thing more perfect than a poem

Until the water went out
I washed my blood and stones crowned
In my name
and I’m there
and one – no.