Here Pops the Great (cold comfort to your ass),

Lie

So lie as dust, lie to be dusted soon,

Lie to be thingless and lie to be weightless,

Lie on the tables, chairs, and coffee spoons -

Indoor, and outdoor - do lie on the nettles,

And grass, and leaves; lie to be blown away,

Lie to be seen and lie to be forgotten,

Lie to keep silence, lie some things to say,

Lie to be blown up and lie to be trodden.

At The End Of The Feast

The sun has set,

But there is still light.

The grass gets wet

With pouring liquor delight.

Tipsy games accept

Both happiness and woe.

Let yourself to be set

In their moods and go.

It approaches the cold,

And you have to get back.

You're oppressed with that bald

dawn's last crack.

And you mind your way

To get back home

With no place to stay

And wide space to roam.

The way seems to be wrong.

Now you seek for the end.

You rose up with a song

For any top to wend.

So what's that road?

Where do you get?

Perhaps too far abroad...

(It's neither said, nor meant.)

And you don't mind

the light's been struck:

You have to stray blind

In that outer dark.

Out in the dark

(not too far abroad)

For the end is stark

Just like stark is God.

Voiceless

The sweetest lot for singing... Fluting tongue

Keeps resting mute and softened with the silence.

Don't break the ice. That coldness brings no violence.

The spring has gone. And then what's to be sprung?

Discordant, blatant tune of strident string?..

Bereave me of my voice to make me sing.

An Old Token

The tenderness is getting old

While human heart accepts the pain.

And that’s your loving hand to hold

And then let go of it again.

What makes our being cold and stiff?

A loss remained. But I forgot.

It only seems to me that if

I lose you now – I’ll lose you not.

Apples In The Orchard

While scores of them expanded grassy ground,

This quiet place scarcely could be found

Upon those branches, next to the deepened blue;

They fall and find another hidden clue

for their growth: the way they learn enough

About the woods and haycocks prickly and rough

far from this place... While you don't keep in mind

This fact and leave them trodden-smashed behind,

And so they fall, and their fallen word

threatens you greater than Damocles' sword,

and you turn back as if you've heard their speech -

Of those two fallen, hard to find which...

A Far Cry

The sweetest dreams and sky in daisy colors:

Dark-blue, affable, trying to submit;

The sweetest sweat, the coldest glance to meet,

the highest sharp missile as men’s huge phallus…

Here Pops the Great (cold comfort to your ass),

“Well, saving peace is waging war”, He says.

He’s an old hand. Pay tribute to the old.

He’s green. While other’s grin remains gold.

Their heroes’ death. The name to pray and love,

there’s mystery ashamed – Sharbat Gula

(photos well done, that complicated task)...