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
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
a short-tempered star
a lightning strike
frost in dictionary
And soon.. all these years
seem just like a blink
of the bite.. inseminated…
Don’ t get nervous phantom of the
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…
To add mincemeat out of the filthy Ser
mix mixture carefully into medicinal
Poke and doodle
In the pokey, up to the rectum river,
plant yourself like a squatter
And… put some ice in the urinals.
Culturally modified verses by Leila Samarrai as an allusion to the growing importance of misandric non – autohomophobic non-feminist females in the love or sort of.. relationships of women today who embrace them with joy and exaltation, as well as their dreams of a strict matriarchy and a misandric society! The poem probably came about after the disappointment of the Sappho – Hannover foundations’ support, which supports joint housing projects for two notorious lesbians.
lyrics: Between females
soundtrack: Greek / Roman Music – Organographia VI
Helen: [to Menelaus] Am I allowed to speak against the charge? To show you that if I die that I shall die most wronged and innocent?
Menelaus: I have come to kill you, not to argue with you.
Hecuba: [ironically] Oh, hear her. She must not die unheard.
You love me in this dress
and you don’t see my full lips nor a shirt wherein my breasts seem safer
neither eyes but a moment before succumbing
you love me in this dress
and you don’t see my bleary-eyed and yellow gaunt face
neither pieces of broken statue or pieces of paper scattered around…
you are not wonder – struck with my scream nor with my attempt to get you to escape
I am taking it off tieing it around my waist
my movements are alternately feminine and rough
I love being a woman because my body moves to the beat of music more easily
but my boyish view that you don’t see slaps the spirits of the past
frozen on the other side…
still immersed in the coloring of the unfinished image
You would do anything for me when I’m in this dress, don’t you?
don’t you see I’m naked, pursued and burned?
don’t you see my old clothes
in the blemished closet loaded with garments as barrel shotguns
a talking picture has turned into a point..
in the background was a poorly dressed wake-up call.
You love me in this dress
perhaps I could remember and arrange any piece for you.
Maybe to play it in a new dress?