the pattern-02.12.11

*artwork-“dark matter” by luca l. via studentartguide.com

dark-matter-charcoal

all the colors of mine
are not enough
to block the blackness
all the words i used to know
are wiped clean
by the persistence of your silence

so i get pulled, again
into turbulence of my dreads
fueled by vigor of your own

the story repeats itself
again and again
and again
vicious
cruel void
we are so powerless
in this love
love

you can not bear the most of me
and i want out so bad
but then you drop
the magic words
they work unfailingly
and i give in
give up
smiling
charmed, blinded by the sweetness of promise
and mute for some more
because there’s touch
it feels so god damn right
to get lost in our dizzy childish truths
and lies, so white, transparent almost
they help us through another day
of pretending

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.

jerusalem for fool-25.06.10

*artwork-by gary kaleda

digital-profile

pure fantasy.
sunny winter days. my favorite.
ha!door opens and he brings the air in
for me to breath.
every time, virgin-like thrill
lusty love, lovely lust.
senses wide shut,
carefully covered
with precise amount of artificial sweetener.
yeah..well, the real is here ( or is he?)
morning coffee with silence OST
families, groceries. sink full of junk.

pretenders? or is it all that it takes?

i am unjust. the goodness is all over.
it’s only that… so difficult to let go
of imaginary passion,
for cosy warmth and promise(?)
of obscure togetherness.

a portrait of breastfeeding woman-3.03.17

*artwork-  “viva emptiness” album art for “katatonia” by travis smith

images-1

 

he was doing things over my computer
i sat besides, listening to
sounds of mouse clicks and worn out keyboard
i said “recently i feel emptied”
and he said “how come?”
so he read to me a poem he wrote
about legless junky whore who listens to Whitney Houston’s old record
i didn’t like it.
so he showed me someone else’s art
a portrait of a naked woman, having her child next to her right breast.
and her lover next to the left one.
we both shivered, slightly embarrassed
with all the taboos that stormed our heads.
and then, boom!
i laughed.
for this image envisioned, with the scariest precision, the thought that i woke up with.
i thought of all these man that i make suck on my breasts
the only thing that helps me cum.
i was thinking of all these lips and tongues that touched my nipples.
of all these heads i was pressing so hard
and caressing so gently
of all these long haired boys whose locks were covering my stomach.
are these meaningless acts of lust?
just something that gets me off?
or is it my perverted way to fulfill the motherhood that can never be accomplished any other way?
because a woman who breastfeeds can never feel empty.

she says i’ve got to-17.01.10

*artwork- frustration by mehran roozbahni

e1c9846e3a4b4193451427080de1ead4

she says i’ve got to try to like this little girl
and i wonder, what is the way?
i wish i could friend her on facebook

she says i’ve got to stop pushing her away,
stop erasing her from this hard disk
on the back of my mind,
mossy used to say

she says i should be empathetic…
should i?
for something that i can not really grasp?
or remember?

coward.

i hide among all these names that barely have faces
just so i won’t have to see my own
and there they go
so precious so unimportant
i keep this puzzle of pieces with no unique form
i choose where to place them
while i lay in my bed and do not remember
whose stomach is pressed against my back.

ilan-3.01.10

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

i287104489215852502-_szw360h1280_

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.

in the middle-28.12.09

*artwork- painting by andrew salgado via justimagine-ddoc.com/art

cbd9684390f14e8fa2db65f4192c5d62

i was having pulsing you, in me,
for long minutes, i believed
until
your phone rang and rang and rang
i asked to pick it up
and right away
i felt your flesh and your mind sliding out
from me
to her.

she was bleeding,
maybe loosing her baby.
i heard you say
” i am sorry, i can’t”
and the thought
“i could easily be in her shoes”

blew my mind

you were out,
out of me,
out of my bed, my room
my life.

yet not with her.
never taking sides.
always in the middle. 

i was silent.
you- eaten by guilt, every touch is an apology- asked
“what’s on your mind?”
“i am sad, for
you’re so eager to be the savior.
yet you are never truly there ”

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