EGOLALIA

hundred days might have passed. hundred days since last opposing blank page. filling with awe and disgust. hundred days of what happened. hundred days of what if anything. filling with nothing and anything. hundred days of promises followed by hundred days of promises. filling with god knows what: continuation of promises, exchanging of currencies. street lights and light fails differentiation, windows and vision too. undecidedly different. light will influence him in hundred days to follow. filling with doubts regarding natural progression, thinking himself chosen one more time. hundred days of natural progression progressing towards artificial consistency. hundred days of artificiality to counteract natural balance. filling with force and goals. hundred days of no show. 

OBSERV

you want to change everything in one go

you pay 199 euro 99 cents/ outside

a man wearing a jacket adorned by two wolves howling at the moon/ is smoking two cigarettes at once/ a couple

observes you as you pay/ he

is wearing dark ray bans/ he is possibly writing poetry/ she

is wearing a hat that makes you think of john lennon/ and

is possibly smarter than him/ your

exercise bike barely fits into the shopping cart/ it

is unlikely to fit into a poem/ outside

the man extinguishes both cigarettes under the heel of a shoe you failed to discern/ shortly

after you pass him by/ the

trunk of your car is frozen shut/ it

only opens upon insistence/ you

strap down the exercise bike and drive

off/ you

think of words/ like

girl

girlfriend

woman

wife

sex

fun

family

kids

words/no 
images

MEMORIES OF A PERFECT GENTLEMAN

a door is opened/ but that's not it/ no/ rather/ a door is closed/ but that's not it/ either/ no/ rather/ a window is shut/ feet are healed/ tongue peeled and sliced//

edible mythologies digested/ lips/ moistened shut by phantom muscle/ the syntactic pried open/ "imagining him"/ "we might have met on bullet train between paris and marseille"//

it had already begun with air/ breathmade addicts/ awaiting sinister revolutions/ changes in illogical system fabric/ ink blot chasing pattern in translucent bloodstream//

a door is held open/ the cat flap of perception/ no/ rather/ the elevator of rationality/ "she arrives without presents"/ to a jester's court room/ and the king awakens/ with pointless erection/ 

RAMPACHE

a sense of beauty left, not to be contested. who had carried hide of lion to top of mountain shall rightfully witness mountain lion transformation. who had dragged sea lion back into ocean belly shall rightfully witness trained eternii stare of nature's costumed operators.

howls of pacific never heard

in

between rolling complaints of black and caspian sea, corrugated concerns transported on bullet train between baku and batumi, dispatched gushes of wind targeting

displaced regiments still fighting battles lost

in

sochi sukhumi gori lagodekhi, beauty left as promises; historical relativism washing up footnotes on next weeks beaches. beauty left as nature imago; droplet frozen in wool of lamb. beauty left as commodity; purchase at daybreak, bucket full of berries offered by inchanteuse singing old tongue.

lamenting brown paper bag poet failing reappearance

in

garagem bridging uplistikhe and borjomi, clear spring water speaking soft rock, exploded mountain over pastures glens and luscious riverbeds pregnant with juice for machinery.

witnessing image of 1800 year old princess fixed onto decommissioned apparatus in pawn shop back room left side. time corridor cordoned off, ghosts of men talking too much chalked up on rustaveli avenue. witnessing borders beginning in you, ponder jurisdiction, choose a stall in encirclement of toilets at trainstation in zugdidi; one part of you remembering pompeii, another formulating prayer

wanting the rest to be covered in ashes too

 RIEN BODY

when adrien brody enters a room in the movie 'detachment', he is entering a room he has already left. his life must not take place. his body can not be allowed to materialise. the bath tub will stay empty and clean, holding no traces of the dirt rings left by his soul when he emerges to dry of his non-body, applying deodorant to his angelic, yet fictitious, armpits, feeling the need to shave the face that is not there. the blank mirror surface shows nothing but the congealed constellations of tooth-paste spit.

adrien brody is eaten by the calmest of sorrows: the certainty that his life is beaten mercilessly into nothingness, that his efforts add little to it except the ceaseless gratification of terminal rejection and disappointment.

the abyss does not stare back at him. it fails to care.

for adrien brody there is nothing to be gained from compassion, as there are no mirroring agents which his compassion can be perceived within. it is thrown into nothingness and can only echo that nothingness, endlessly, in hollow cycles.

there is nothing to learn.

there is only the perpetuation of hate and loneliness. there will be no future. the sun will abandon a planet that have long since abandoned it. the comets dart into a pool of indifference, underappreciated by a chorus of shrugged shoulders, rolling eyes.

there is no love, only rape.

yet adrien brody knows, that even though he cannot save himself, he is not powerless to sacrifice himself for another. even now, in the most fractured moment of his non-existence, there is the off chance that someone can see him, and perceive his light, inexplicably, as shining a little bit brighter than their own.

life through sacrifice. it is his last chance. it is their last hope.

when adrien brody exits a room in the movie 'detachment', he does so in the contained warmth of a body that wasn't his to begin with.

all is not lost in sensitivity.