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I should like to take you someday
to the underground vaults of this city,
where beneath the steel-clad enclosures
the fiery carbuncle stone glows.
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I still act out of hunger, out of absence,
I drive myself with a whip of boundless plains.
Endless journeys exist.
Conquered wastelands are too small.
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closing my eyes doesn’t help
I press my palms against my lids
to see the stars –
islands of light
in a sea of darkness
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I’m not sure whether I should be thankful to Tomas Petrulis for creating me, for while writing his book THE BODY OF A THING he would force me into awkward and even dangerous situations.
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Someday they’ll understand why we locked ourselves in the bathroom.
Even now they aren’t sure if I’m in there writing, or you’re dictating.
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The colors and the shapes
and the flat equalizing plane
Takes us away
From the noise of language
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Here comes a princess:
lovely, athletic, supple, and lean
her strike - like a lightning bolt.
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when i sleep i sleep with my hands between my legs
it looks like i’m praying to my gender
half of this life is given to sleep
what the other half is for i don’t really know
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The forest here is strange:
No echo answers, no shadows fall,
deafened birds don't hear each other — — —
