Neptune’s drum thud *between heaven and earth


Neptune taciturn you the drumming
moon – pronged fork
(Hiswhatcarbonfire?) with a
noisy light bolt from the Triton’s throat
when lo!
cosmic silence
Pearce thy heart on top of lightning rod
flashes lightningeniosly
lightningredient, Chut, chut, chut

I was bent  looking at the sky
from an ideal angle
behold, hands are peeling away in glass,
at an incomparable address restores faith
in the mortal covenant with innate signs

Here, my hands are quite a clear
Part of the speech on the other side of the sheet
she misspelt the right words,
he collected the blurred images
all that was spilt and collected
into one flashing point
between locks and secret places, Pa rum pum pum pum

Come not anearst the angel’s nostrils
It explodes. Eternally in existence
sometimes absent sometimes
all around with irrepressible actions
emptiness, freedom of oblivion,
successful metaphors swallowed symbols
tamed snake, the foremother of small intestines
you shine a green light like a mythical image
there are many great secrets in orientation
and I play the game I found myself in

a live Fabian Gottlieb von Bellingshausen
antartica expedition
winter pastures opportunities for dialogue
in the greasy earth the blue flames of corpses
circumnavigate circumvent in iced iceberg
to the color of midnight
a live

The Whitman’s 8th funnyhanded shipwretched symphony
and my tongue was just born
like a new fire incited by icy strifes
give me cosmic showers
with quantums of radiation and floral scents
give cadmium in cd minor for fantasy and orchestra
with electronickered language
give me solitude, give me neptune,
give the sky the color of potassium in the dark

Beat beat drums
rataplan rataplan
captaincommensurate king Neptune in the midst
Captaincy, oh captaincy!
shine you thicklysillish bastard
nothings shine numberessness of me
all matteringgratitude of eternal now
of unworld maddened magicians growing old
yes but no
straight up into the pentagon
oxigon, cubicalamity Jane semicubical parabola
forever’s long
 to Thanatos and Hymen, Ta ra ra ra boom
About a law of merged vessels,
the invention of Prometheus is so tempting.

Exorcise Trials


Exorcise Trials


You dare to talk about the psyche

That I am not strong enough to do twenty-five push-ups?

What do you know about a woman?

Are you thinking of Psycho as Isolde

Or Juliet perhaps?

The ones who received Aphrodite’s curse

to be beautiful, but lonely?

Vengeful bitch.

Still so pretty…

Now go and look where her hands are…

I, The Goddess Of Yelling, I… scream


They call me Judi Dench, in the gym

I cut off the Venus’ limbs with my voice

Me? I am a few pieces of broken statue

I wish I was like Aphrodite of Milo

To be sold to the French at a good price

If only some farmer from Melos had unearthed me

I would be, like she, in the Louvre, beautiful and exposed

Instead I sweat and toil in a man-made gymnasium

Counting to ten over and over

Aphrodite de Milo:

I have a part of the left hand and an apple

I am Eva, now, immovable

with lust in this boring paradise

That is my trial.


I am beasting it up now…

I am a cardio bunny showing of my guns

While I sweat I think about my altar—

I am not yelling-I sing like my birds

How sweetly they call out

But then they’re trapped in their cage…

Which is why they weep

Or how about

I listen to the final tweet in their verse

To learn their secrets

Like the nightingale whose notes are devoured

even better then Keats’ can write

My poems are silent, however, passionate, hard


Dressed in beauty forever

I sublimely sing with LOVE

I am able to do it …

In fact, once, I did.

Now.. Hold for 30 Seconds then curl up

That is my trial.

[TO me, this should be the end of the first poem….the next part doesn’t seem to flow from this….I would separate here]


I remember November 20, 2000

The Hague, one of The Old Ones:

You… abhorrent… disgusting… perverse

Stay away from my normal daughter!

(at least she was stronger and smarter

to pull me out from the Slovenian pantheon

to Kragujevac’ shop windows)

although the entire Slovenian pantheon is poor plagiarism of

ancient Greek religion

at least she called me Wicca

or Diana’s witch

Incubus, at least she called me her grandmother

half crazy she went through the village, freed from peasant tasks

whining for her girlfriend dying

Later, her daughter went nuts..

As for myself,

As a noblewoman I changed my name of Sachsen-Coburg und Gotha in Windsor

That is my trial.


Time according to D. W.” Griffith, it happened in 1985

What’s your father’s name

How ????












Ekron God.

(Children’s laughter)

And spoken cruelty.

Baals of Canaan

Beelzebub, flies!

Fly fly away flies

Fly away!

(Silent cry)

Poor baby,my angel.
Your sacred, innocent
pure virginity is gone.

(Evil smile)

Common now 25 jumping jacks

Swat jumps

shoulder width apart.

to a comfortable depth…


Do you have the shots in the mind as I do

external anal’psis

even prolepsis

is Griffith your teacher?

“The Teacher of us All”

of a Hollywood Yahweh

End of narrative



I am Tired of .. under this sky…

I must take a pause ..

Cool down …


I am


a matrix,



the world is too nebulous

to be interpreted

I cast every onslaught on my body

I cast …

Perhaps I’m not a poet, but a killer

no poetry until the bloodshed

heads secession on the fly with katana

leave all sediment and silt behind


Time according to D. W.” Griffith, it happened in 2003, maybe in 2010…

she said

stop calling me!

He said: stop calling me

Ma‘a salama مع السلامة.

Mummies legions, the Nephilim

For the former joys have passed away …


Somewhere in the middle of the Hollywood narrative, critic speaks:

set on fire your madness do not feel ashamed

Good.. Very well penned…

thus you should write and thus it should be!

Continue like this!

symbolically, yet completely illogical,

and yet carries energy and   original poetic line!


We cast you out, every unclean spirit,

omnis legio, et omnis congregatio secta diabolica,

and nomini et virtute Domini nostri Jesu Christi!

This is much better, Griff!

“You know, I thought it was a new poetic voice.

But your slam ton I do not like “


in the name and by the power of our Lord Jesus Christ

unquam suade mihi vana!

I am not interested in your vanities.

That is my trial.


Mysterious ridges are thy Elohim

Where do you taking me now?

Why are you burying your toes

In the fiery bowels

Of the gerber – free!

“What do you see?”

There are three of them:

Mother, son and uncle

Screaming, laughing and stealing my jewelry

Cutting my hair,

Someone strikes

They spit on me\

“Sit in the tub!”

They paint my face with milk and honey

And soon, flies.. flies…

I was prosecuted from a large Dante’ yard

After that, I never could take Hell serious.

That is why they reinvented Devil in every 10 years or less.

unclean spirit,

satanic power,

onslaught of the infernal adversary,

Cast out their legions!

That is my trial.


Saves the best for the trial in Salem!

May the holy be my light!

May the dragon be my guide!

There will be three of them:

The unclean spirit Karni Mata

She lives in the Temple Of Rats

Also known as the Trojan pony.

She stole my money and devoured some life…

The second is the Goddes of Poop, with the hair of Medusa

A tremendous gossip!

The third is Ninkasi, born from the sprinkled vodka

Goddess of beer and brewing

The drunkard centuries

Beasts from the abyss

the Lamb of God

Behold, the Lamb of God enters the court!

Trials trials everywhere!

The blood of the lamb

The blood of the lamb

The poor lamb should do some donkey kicks

Photo Credit: Matrix of Art, Sara Chelou

Author’s Note on “Resurrection 2”

we live in the eternal Sisyphus loop of rediscovering our own stone, in rooms where broken chairs stumble and people with a blind spot in their brains humiliate come out of the dungeons of consumerism, resurrecting again and again to preserve that little bit of humanity

the invitations of Jerusalem were spent
faded desert caravans
cold Siberian singers
Kentucky chickens died
I don’t know what happened to reason

we are all Zombie Lazarus in maintaining decency in moving and pushing stones, lime in hair and souls in nose … and other abominations.
Narcissus drowned long ago in a beloved lake.

illusions, projections… what could not be realized was dreamed up, what was objectively allowed was created.

effort to effort, will to will
method, procedure, instruction and effect
a quick penny and finally a stake

clean bill and dirty laundry,
poisonous milk conclusions
four walls and a bastard, all that fever
and all around, emptiness, is hungry, exhausted

deadly health loans and lighthouses
the only thing left of the renaissance
forced union-voluntary spacing

and calling witnesses

THE ROAD, Leila Samarrai


My distant seas
Flooded the land
In the night.
My bright fires
Smell burned nostrils.
Distorted are
The kisses.
My warm dreams
Frosted by
Extinct stars
And oaths
Which only the constellations
There they are
Like curses.
The thief took away the peace
Kept in a vortex ‘till then.
Frozen reflections sleep
Vanished flowers
Through irony
Heal hell.

The wounds elicited hopes
onto the rocks of ancient seas
bring peace to the castaway.
They prolonged the eternal day
To one more wrathful hour.

Have you not been brought by the departed
into dark regions
by the narrowness of heart?
Eat your own heart.
Let snow cover it.
The sight and breath return
After the strike of the matured essence.
Let Truth become essence to you
The quest
Pretty fresco carved
By the eye of the stern

Look how they drink wine
And make merry with thorns
They feed the fish
On the river Jordan.
They gather them with a hat
Quickly serve them
Even faster gnawed
They throw them back to the water
And croak to the moon
Into the mum day.
They followed the tail of the star
To see her head
Embryos of the entirety
To remove.
In hands they carry gold,
Hear where they say:
From spirit the emerald was born.

Mystics listen to her
Cynics vomit her
Midwives truth-birth her
And since always
Welcome her on hands
That insidious trash
To fill their pitchers
With her feces.
Born from the spirit of pride
From the spleen of law
From the blood of forefathers
From the womb of lies
From seventy seven
The fools loved her
Saints like a knick – knack
Showed her on the fair
Liars about her
Sexually fantasized
Ecce veritas
Spends her life next to Dionysius ,
Bloodless turkey cocks and donkeys
Smell her sacred beak.
Crowned with laurels
Permeated with boredom
In the tasteful asylum
And she sings in blood
To dampened strings
While watching her reflection
In the lavatory of Hades
Now already an aging whore
Arose from the dream
To maintain the dream.

From the cold
in the bones
in the cold
to the bones
where have you
Your brother Cain
And them?
Will they die?
From the ice
Under bones
Will they drop dead?
By sheet
Of winter
In the bones
All those who
On Good Friday
Got some kind of
To walk the earth;
The dream extracted from my eye.

In the polished macrocosm
Cleansed from the dirty
The poor and the ugly
May my prayer
Rip your moment of peace.

I live in peregrine flesh
I think in a peregrine head
I don’t want to be stultified!
Why you write so loud?)
I have been cured
To perversity


I believe in craziness
In the seed of furore
Like Chateaubriand
Which confides into the power
Of Borodin sun
I believe in scum
Sideway spheres
Cuckoo eggs
Saint Ignatius cantinier
I am
The snack of lions
Holy Trinity
And drunken senate-crown
In poison-(mis)ery
I swear
To senex
Which catches up with youth
Princeps of principibus
Thrown into the arena
Sown with sandals
Of devoured magistrates
The fruit of time lowers by the sky
My bones beside the son
The second son
Of Urbin
It is a cowardly
Since then I circle
With white dogs
Through haze
Upon shores.

Pierced by sound
Wave the forks
With the mute ear
Hunt the landloper
Broken by a blackguard
The tempest rushes towards wrath
Silence and bones
Of some ancient springhead
Springhead through bodies.

He dies in words
The man who writes.
Drowned fish slide
Down bloodied carousel
Unconscious eyes
The man writes
Dives like a bird
For a sonata
Drowned in the fountain
The passerby in water
With unmoving feet
And he and her
And us and you
Head to the clouds
The harvest sown
In the iris
They quest for a vision
She shapes in a poem
The bloody thirst
Bitterness mocks her
They pass dipped
In icy bathrooms
Through peaceful centuries
You know well
Who writes
About the luster of infinity
Or nothingness
It is equal
In vain.


With a cloud on their back
Butcher clowns
Regana’s daughters
Who hate my day
And all my mornings
Born from the wound
Of glistening narcissuses
Litter of Lucrecia
You exchanged venoms
Compressed into pitchers
In grinds sweetly
To stain the knife
With ancient cause
It is the artist osculating
He butchered the night
Of silence
And hush
But I will further hear
The eternal echo of my death.

In the hour of celebrated departure
The warriors slumbered.
They breathe out under banners
And bloom in the hollow.
Flowers separate them.
Or are those
Intersected roads ,
Time fell asleep
In ambiguities.