picking a scab-14.01.15

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*artwork- “wound” by pejac via artcollectorz.com

 

When I pick a scab,

Tiny echo of ache,

What do I wish to feel?

Quite simple.

To feel.

It’s yearning for yearning.

An infinite plowing through barren fields

Of terrain so hard and  frozen.

Burnt.

Forsaken.

Orphaned.

No woman’s land.

My enslavement to pain

Never loosens its grip.

Devout hostage to sour lump in my throat, I am.

Won’t ever spit out

Won’t ever push in.

That’s right.  For

Being tormented is of rarest value.

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26-18.7.11

*artwork-via www.houzz.com

contemporary-artwork

he was the lamb wishing to be the shark,
years of struggling, and he did get there, but i never came,
trying to get rid of myself.
given to the hands of curiosity with nothing to remember
but this empty street and deserted man,
it was easy.
playing in the same team with my own nature, we spent
meaningless hours sprinkled with random talking about books.
suddenly, it occurred that he was so near,
and for almost a year i felt these warm words
followed by cold drops of closeness.
twice i was a coward:
being colorblind, i waited for so long to share, but
he was the one who took my colors, giving none back.
already colorless, i was fleeing
and he let me taste this black and white soup,
it tasted like happiness.
into the wilderness, i got lost, and fell down ,slithered, for
he was the snake.
and he was the snail.
and again i was sinking into the goo i wished to produce,
even though on that moment he was sticky and sweet and melting like sugar.
soon on a night of exhilaration i was the one to hold his hand on a way home,
and we laughed.
then he was beautiful, tearing my skirt he wore, so frozen and distant, i felt.
so that i needed to escape into engineered world of scheduling
and brushing the teeth after every meal, it couldn’t last.
on the roof top we drank sour wine and spilled out well known secrets,
he knew how to surprise my feet and tickle my heart.
i wanted my heart un-ticklish, but it refused to obey, because
he was so upright, and so small, and so much larger than i could ever imagine
or bare, so i let go.
just to see that he was a red head pirate,
fighting his own demons, he could not fight those mine.
on that moment he became roman, forever turning jerusalem into sanctuary.
i got caught up and it all turned into a big mash with a guitar music dressing.
i needed to breath, so now he was showing me his paintings
and i was breath(ing)less again.
that’s why he was young and his hair was big, he played saxophone
during nights and i was smiling.
wearing beautiful dress, and smelling like me and like everyone, i was talking
to him in the dark, and my lips were touching his skin.
i was hiding in holy jerusalem, when he came again, and
took me into his pre-planned world of tomorrow,
we never celebrated the moment.
so i ran away, and then he was worshiping Buddha and climbed mountains,
while i was sad. 

so he came straight from his own reality holding that mirror. he wanted to pull me in, i preferred to fade away.
into what used to be sacred jerusalem,
but only closer to the polluted sea.
all of a sudden, i was near holy heights again:
he was another lamb, hiding in god’s lion skin,
digging out secrets buried in earth,
so delicate and warm, he was,
i thought i can breath for real,
but i was suffocating until i managed to leave.
for long nights i waited for the moment when i could go back dancing
on my own,
and barefoot bear put me under the spotlight and  into the game.
satan was lurking just around the corner, making illusive southern desert look like luxurious oasis, it hurt deliciously.
so i chose to try out north,
the heat was strikingly immense,
but little black eyed demon was as cold as marble.

julio cortazar. on jazz-26.01.10

*artwork- “relativity ” by m.c. escher via blogs.cornell.edu

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i did forget.
beloved  Cortazar, how funny does it work.
three lines by genius and it became so vivid…that chilly summer night in holy city.
i wear long brown dress
so dark and infinite to match the mood we share
we slowly walk, with nothing more to say
so miserably lost
two accidental strangers
then
the shelter of a bar, protecting sounds of jazz
i hide my tears in smile
you are unmercifully distanti sipped the shame. and swallowed.

and now, forever since,
i wish i could replay
the shelter of a bar, protecting sounds of jazz
while you fake fascination with the act
and as we wait for the distracting substance,
i put my hand on yours, excuse myself, get up
and leave.

how powerful it seems. now.

ilan-3.01.10

*artwork-“Further up, further In” by sol kjøk via galleriramfjord.net

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i do not care. you can be anyone
when i close my eyes i do not feel
the difference.
eager to be held
and being lied to.
i close my eyes. you can be anyone
do not infect the air with consonants and vowels
the only lie i believe in is your hands
with eyes closed, they feel the same.
when you came to rescue me
the other night, i was glad
but it was not you i was waiting for.
and when you kissed my mouth,
smeared crowd of strangers around us,
i was not kissing you back.
and when i laid in that bed,
all frozen and burning,
it was not your stomach pressed against my spine.

my hair still smells like 1000 cigarettes
and my bed still have the imprint of
another illusion,
but it is your face i do not remember.
again.

happy new year-31.12.09

*artwork- “red couple dance” by naxart studio via fineartamerica.com

red-couple-dance-irina-march

still.
walled in comforting fears
my fruitful quest for rejection
won’t stop. i’d not give up
on you
so sweet, slap after slap
every word tastes like leather belt on my skin
leaving red marks that i collect and keep
carefully cataloged
and maintain them thoroughly.

we move, altering egos of cowardice.
my faceless men
your nameless women,
an endless fuel for
our dance of hurt and solace.

filthy little animals-17.12.09

*artwork- “intimacy” by derek murphy via derekmurphyart.com

intimacy.jpg

 

our bodies have a secret
so now we’re sealed
with a disease. until it’s too late
and the words can not wait inside
anymoreyou remove the dirt under my nails
as easily as you melt my disquiet
and as i run fingers through your hair
i get rid of lice
as easily as i wash your long day away

we’re filthy little animals,
(anti)socially grooming each other,
when no one knows and i hide
with you
in my own bed, where
both you and me give birth and devour

bliss(fool)-14.12.09

*artwork- “sudden night shower in tel aviv”  by victor bezrukov, via victorbezrukov.com

sudden_rain_telaviv_m42_asahi-_by_victor_bezrukov-16

if there’s god then bless this night and rain.
let it baptize us.
revitalizing drops conceal
sacredly secret moment, this is yearning
above me- sky
i face big shriveled stranger city,
having familiar you behind my back
we both are stirred, inflamed
with unexpected burst of aching softness
please, let them witness
i am yours, completely,
now
my soul is out of body
body’s out of soul

transparent like the powder i wore-13.12.09

2017-01-07-16-51-24

transparent like the powder i wore
i felt
on Thursday

on Friday, being reclusive nomad,
pushing aside all smart ass reasons, i
left  my fortress home, for us
this hour and a half means nothing
along the shoreline, through the rain
oh, fast as dreaming,
i traveled. excited like this sea
and it was storming

and then. you are the shelter

Saturday morning.
too good to bare,
so
i begin to question

the eyes are all of a sudden moist
you’re comfortless. thus madly tender.
the girl is coming. more real than real.
she’ll clean your mess.
she did in august.
i do not hate her.
i pity her for
she is as hostage here as i am

i smell like you and sex
and she is present, watching
soon it’s her turn

i want to throw up. i am nowhere
still have no place.
another man is out there.
he has some room for me. he waits
while i deceive with you.
oh, how romantic.
it’s sickening.
so you get strength to throw up
for that, i am impaired
homeless
i don’t believe you
when you say my name

i am the snake, remember?
you are the one who charms
i am there only when you are not
oh, you kiss the gentlest when you know i am hurt

of imminently shifting tides-10.12.09

2017-01-07-15-01-43

*artwork- drawing by kosta gurgov

deputed beggar
spotless junky
getting no share.
i am gone.

hungered by anger
stabbed with self pity
embedded by excluding blame
again, i am being tortured
while glue-like minutes drip away

that’s who i am
unheeded child,
still waiting, miserably restless,
for ever evanescent mom.

Greek tragedy…
predestined rocking…
oh, mother, is there any good in talking
(of imminently shifting tides?)