Around A Word

October 2007

(GOD’S GIFT)

…one more interstate

of your mind, you wait

alone by the wind-

ow. Though you try,

you never win.

Tears run dry

till nothing’s left

to cry with. You let

your looking glass

have more tear gas.

But the nearest tear

gas station’s not here,

and it’s hard to reach

it, not knowing which

way to go. You’re not

well: the vacant lot

behind the pane

drives you insane

as winter trees

begin to freeze

under a sheet

of snow. The street

is full of day-

dreams you can play

back in the dark.

By the main park,

you hear a shout

across the road.

You write about

it. But you wrote

about it before

(you barely know

when or what for).

A long time ago,

you got a lift

to this great place

that is GOD’s Gift

to the human race.

You hope to come

back to it some-

day. Trying to find

a way to rewind…

…one more interstate of your mind, you wait alone by the window. Though you try, you never win. Tears run dry till nothing’s left to cry with. You let your looking glass have more tear gas. But the nearest tear gas station’s not here, and it’s hard to reach it, not knowing which way to go. You’re not well: the vacant lot behind the pane drives you insane as winter trees begin to freeze under a sheet of snow. The street is full of daydreams you can play back in the dark. By the main park, you hear a shout across the road. You write about it. But you wrote about it before (you barely know when or what for). A long time ago, you got a lift to this great place that is GOD’s Gift to the human race. You hope to come back to it someday. Trying to find a way to rewind…

January 2008

(AFTER AN AFTERGLOW)

…on the corner of day

and the following night.

There are things one can say

that aren’t easy to write.

Staring at the snow-

pregnant clouds in the sky

after an afterglow,

sometimes one can see dry

autumn leaves in the wind.

Like sheets, torn from a tree,

they turn against their will

(almost like you and me),

running out of time,

let alone all alone luck.

You said I’m not your type,

and suddenly I was stuck…

…on the corner of day and the following night. There are things one can say that aren’t easy to write. Staring at the snow-pregnant clouds in the sky after an afterglow, sometimes one can see dry autumn leaves in the wind. Like sheets, torn from a tree, they turn against their will (almost like you and me), running out of time, let alone all their luck. You said I’m not your type, and suddenly I was stuck…

February 2008

(UNUTTERED WORDS)

…unuttered words

that stick to things

between two worlds.

One of them brings

out your soul

or what is left

of it. You stroll

along the left

side of the street

into the heart

of a quite sweet

but bitter part

of your own past.

You walk into

the future past

the present two

days after you

return with new…

…unuttered words that stick to things between two worlds. One of them brings out your soul or what is left of it. You stroll along the left side of the street into the heart of a quite sweet but bitter part of your own past. You walk into the future past the present two days after you return with new…

March 2008

(CHAMBER MAID)

…covered with softer snow-

white sheets from paperback

bookstores. You get to know

plenty of things in black

and white while watching a tear

gas chamber maid you made

friends with out of fear.

Having slipped out of the shade

she is in, shadows shake,

copying bare trees

in the wind. Wide awake,

they striptease for green leaves.

Someone sips from your cup

of tears. Your evening tea

and night coffee could be

cold seawater. You stop

and stare at the fireflies:

they freeze in a window frame

of mind under sad skies

that seem to stay the same

(with clouds lined up like rain-

coats in a clothing store).

For a while, they remain

there. Just like before,

you come in touch with the dark-

ness of the night that feels

almost as warm as a stark-

naked woman in heels…

…covered with softer snow-white sheets from paperback bookstores. You get to know plenty of things in black and white while watching a tear gas chamber maid you made friends with out of fear. Having slipped out of the shade she is in, shadows shake, copying bare trees in the wind. Wide awake, they striptease for green leaves. Someone sips from your cup of tears. Your evening tea and night coffee could be cold seawater. You stop and stare at the fireflies: they freeze in a window frame of mind under sad skies that seem to stay the same (with clouds lined up like raincoats in a clothing store). For a while, they remain there. Just like before, you come in touch with the darkness of the night that feels almost as warm as a stark-naked woman in heels…

April 2008

(TIME BOMB)

…where you hear the wind.

It blows up like a time

bomb, obeying the Will

of GOD. It sounds sublime

but begins to feel cold

despite the summer heat

waves still washing the gold

and silver of the night street…

…where you hear the wind. It blows up like a time bomb, obeying the Will of GOD. It sounds sublime but begins to feel cold despite the summer heat waves still washing the gold and silver of the night street…

June 2008

(IN A LOOKING GLASS)

…out in search of change,

new scenery and, perhaps,

texture of city maps

studied lately like strange

scripts. In a looking glass,

you sometimes see the face

value of empty space

at a random tear gas

station. You look inside

and behold a hot tear

gas chamber maid. In fear,

you think you’d better hide

while she makes your bed-

room door open at night,

throwing a beam of light

on what looks like a dead-

end street still sinking deep

into a sea of sleep.

Spilled like a glass of wine,

time drips onto the ground,

making the silence sound

like something you want to wipe…

…out in search of change, new scenery and, perhaps, texture of city maps studied lately like strange scripts. In a looking glass, you sometimes see the face value of empty space at a random tear gas station. You look inside and behold a hot tear gas chamber maid. In fear, you think you’d better hide while she makes your bedroom door open at night, throwing a beam of light on what looks like a dead-end street still sinking deep into a sea of sleep. Spilled like a glass of wine, time drips onto the ground, making the silence sound like something you want to wipe…

August 2008

(HIDING FROM GOD)

…WHO knows all there is to know.

Pages of autumn snow

are being turned in slow

motion while you look

at them. The picture book

of the street tells you that

it’s not easy to get

to the opposite side

of whatever you hide

from yourself. It’s almost

like trying to hide from a ghost

haunting you. Hiding from

yourself in any form

is hard. But it is not

as hard as hiding from GOD,…

…WHO knows all there is to know. Pages of autumn snow are being turned in slow motion while you look at them. The picture book of the street tells you that it’s not easy to get to the opposite side of whatever you hide from yourself. It’s almost like trying to hide from a ghost haunting you. Hiding from yourself in any form is hard. But it is not as hard as hiding from GOD,…

November 2008

(CITY PIE)

…this city pie

coated with snow

that melts in my

mouth. In slow

e-motion mode,

it makes my eyes

wet by the road

up to the skies.

On the way west

from the borderline,

there’s a whole fest

of neon light

candles and cakes

of glass and steel

with upright lakes.

There you can feel…

…this city pie coated with snow that melts in my mouth. In slow e-motion mode, it makes my eyes wet by the road up to the skies. On the way west from the borderline, there’s a whole fest of neon light candles and cakes of glass and steel with upright lakes. There you can feel…

December 2008

(MINSK AVENUE)

…who told me a lot of words

but not a single thing

about how the silver ring

of smoke you wear works.

Now, the sky has put on

another long raincoat

where the day once wrote

all the words that are gone.

The sun has given way to

the color of a new moon,

pouring pensive mood

that tears one into two

roads covered either with snow

or a thick layer of dust.

You live deep in the past

indefinite tense and show

up in the present like

a ghost rattling a chain

of thoughts attached to my brain.

It looks like a yellow line

around a scene of crime,

which one wouldn’t commit

for any reason. Rime

covers another street

in a totally different state

of mind. It’s getting late.

The city is falling asleep.

There is no one around.

The wind is starting to sweep

another deserted playground

where no one wants to play

back the film of the night

shadows that often stay

out. Like black and white

pictures of smiles on

the full lips of the moon,

they’re going to last till dawn

erases them. Quite soon,

this month may be over and

another month may start

and last to the very end

of this time in the heart

of the city. Like my

heart, it beats on a train

of thoughts that rushes by

the flickering window pane

on the Minsk avenue

where I first met you…

…who told me a lot of words but not a single thing about how the silver ring of smoke you wear works. Now, the sky has put on another long raincoat where the day once wrote all the words that are gone. The sun has given way to the color of a new moon, pouring pensive mood that tears one into two roads covered either with snow or a thick layer of dust. You live deep in the past indefinite tense and show up in the present like a ghost rattling a chain of thoughts attached to my brain. It looks like a yellow line around a scene of crime, which one wouldn’t commit for any reason. Rime covers another street in a totally different state of mind. It’s getting late. The city is falling asleep. There is no one around. The wind is starting to sweep another deserted playground where no one wants to play back the film of the night shadows that often stay out. Like black and white pictures of smiles on the full lips of the moon, they’re going to last till dawn erases them. Quite soon, this month may be over and another month may start and last to the very end of this time in the heart of the city. Like my heart, it beats on a train of thoughts that rushes by the flickering window pane on the Minsk avenue where I first met you…

February 2009

(IN DOUBT)

…behind drops of spring

rain. Clouds on the sky-

line hang to dry

like coats on a string.

I once had a dream

about you. About

to drown in doubt,

I swim in the stream

of my memory,

trying to record

it in ways free

of any wrong word.

You spend your life

out on a street

without one light

that one would meet

before a flood

of tears, seeking GOD…

…behind drops of spring rain. Clouds on the skyline hang to dry like coats on a string. I once had a dream about you. About to drown in doubt, I swim in the stream of my memory, trying to record it in ways free of any wrong word. You spend your life out on a street without one light that one would meet before a flood of tears, seeking GOD…

March 2009

(SEVERAL SLEEPY STREETS)

…where these sleepy streets

make you break into bits

and pieces of a jigsaw-

puzzled look you once saw

out of a looking glass

of shame. It wouldn’t pass

out of mind, or out

of time. Shadows of doubt

seem to fall on your face.

You start to stare into space

rolling outside the glass

window of an empty bus,

though there’s no real need

to see the city bleed

through the cracks in the wall-

paper sky. In the fall

of the rain, lightning splits

several sleepy streets

into numerous parts.

Almost like broken hearts,

they paint this picture with

the pain of a wild wind

that still howls outside.

Looking for places to hide,

you try your best to forget

your fear at least for that

moment. You want to throw

it out of your head and know

a little less than you do.

You want to sleep more to

think less. You seem to make

another massive mistake

every time you begin

to think of something between

splinters of shattered glass

dreams that used to be us

in this world GOD made,

using some light and shade…

…where these sleepy streets make you break into bits and pieces of a jigsaw-puzzled look you once saw out of a looking glass of shame. It wouldn’t pass out of mind, or out of time. Shadows of doubt seem to fall on your face. You start to stare into space rolling outside the glass window of an empty bus, though there’s no real need to see the city bleed through the cracks in the wallpaper sky. In the fall of the rain, lightning splits several sleepy streets into numerous parts. Almost like broken hearts, they paint this picture with the pain of a wild wind that still howls outside. Looking for places to hide, you try your best to forget your fear at least for that moment. You want to throw it out of your head and know a little less than you do. You want to sleep more to think less. You seem to make another massive mistake every time you begin to think of something between splinters of shattered glass dreams that used to be us in this world GOD made, using some light and shade…

April 2009

(THE TOWN OF YOUR MIND)

…who’ll tell you all

about the Whole

Wide World in One

Word of THE ONE.

The wind blows in your face

as you walk through this place

to that time in the town

of your mind. Down

or up the street,

you hope to meet

a herald from

GOD in human form…

…who’ll tell you all about the Whole Wide World in One Word of THE ONE. The wind blows in your face as you walk through this place to that time in the town of your mind. Down or up the street, you hope to meet a herald from GOD in human form…

May 2009

(STARING AT THE DAWN)

…as you go on and on

and on, staring at the dawn

through a pair of sun-

glasses. You are someone

who’s used to having lots

of highly unusual thoughts

in your attempts to find

a piece of the peace of mind

you have been looking for

since you started this war

of words no one can win

in the end. As the wind

strengthens, the rain seems hard

enough to break your heart,

although it may be made of

what appears to be love

with an admixture of hate.

When you go on a date

with yourself, you may like

to think that you live your life

as if it was some weird word,

which no one has ever heard

being said or has seen

written. Sometimes you seem

like you don’t even exist.

You are almost a twist

in time and a turn in space.

You seem to know your place,

which is not here (but not

there, either). You’ve got

no place to go and no

place to stay as you know

no one, and no one knows

you. You’ve never been close

to anyone. No one has

ever been close to you as

someone who wants to know you.

Now, you think that you knew

it when you thought you were free.

You feel like a memory

everyone wants to forget

as soon as they see you at

the other end of the way

home. At the break of day

in the middle of June,

the wind whistles its tune

outside the window again.

It looks like it’s going to rain

harder than yesterday. It

may flood the entire street

you move along. You hear

something that feels like a tear

gas bomb begin to explode

inside to get a load

off your mind in the shape

of an audiotape

recording of a tough time

you even don’t want to rhyme

about. Trying to walk away

from yourself, you start to play

back the past in your head

and drive yourself as mad

as the fastest race car,

hoping it won’t go too far…

…as you go on and on and on, staring at the dawn through a pair of sunglasses. You are someone who’s used to having lots of highly unusual thoughts in your attempts to find a piece of the peace of mind you have been looking for since you started this war of words no one can win in the end. As the wind strengthens, the rain seems hard enough to break your heart, although it may be made of what appears to be love with an admixture of hate. When you go on a date with yourself, you may like to think that you live your life as if it was some weird word, which no one has ever heard being said or has seen written. Sometimes you seem like you don’t even exist. You are almost a twist in time and a turn in space. You seem to know your place, which is not here (but not there, either). You’ve got no place to go and no place to stay as you know no one, and no one knows you. You’ve never been close to anyone. No one has ever been close to you as someone who wants to know you. Now, you think that you knew it when you thought you were free. You feel like a memory everyone wants to forget as soon as they see you at the other end of the way home. At the break of day in the middle of June, the wind whistles its tune outside the window again. It looks like it’s going to rain harder than yesterday. It may flood the entire street you move along. You hear something that feels like a tear gas bomb begin to explode inside to get a load off your mind in the shape of an audiotape recording of a tough time you even don’t want to rhyme about. Trying to walk away from yourself, you start to play back the past in your head and drive yourself as mad as the fastest race car, hoping it won’t go too far…

June 2009

(IN MY HEAD)

…all over again without

any pain, fear or doubt.

Like rain on a sunny day,

I feel like I don’t belong

here. I have to say

it in a foreign tongue,

knowing that it’s not mine —

like any language on earth.

I try to write this line,

hoping that it is worth

something. Then, after all

I have written and said,

I look up at the wall

of the sky in my head,

begging GOD to heal my heart

and allow me to start…

…all over again without any pain, fear or doubt. Like rain on a sunny day, I feel like I don’t belong here. I have to say it in a foreign tongue, knowing that it’s not mine – like any language on earth. I try to write this line, hoping that it is worth something. Then, after all I have written and said, I look up at the wall of the sky in my head, begging GOD to heal my heart and allow me to start…

August 2009

(THE RIGHT WORDS)

…like raincoats hung to dry

along the swelling sky-

line. It feels like a tight-

rope walk across the night

spreading over the land

and sea, which sometimes blend

in your eyes when you think

of them. You’re on the brink

of insanity. Can

you remain a man

that is sane and not mad

if you live in your head

and almost never go out?

Sometimes you start to doubt

that these things can be put

into words like a foot

can be put into a shoe.

You wonder if you should

think of these things at all.

Maybe you should simply call

it a day no matter what

it is. Each second thought

that is stuck in your brain

brings you nothing but pain

and fear. Your only wish

is to keep your mind on a leash

from which it just cannot

escape. There are a lot

of things you’d really like

to move into the light

of reason. You have no

means for that, though. You know

that it’s wrong, and it will

remain that way until

you put things into the right

words and then out of sight…

…like raincoats hung to dry along the swelling skyline. It feels like a tightrope walk across the night spreading over the land and sea, which sometimes blend in your eyes when you think of them. You’re on the brink of insanity. Can you remain a man that is sane and not mad if you live in your head and almost never go out? Sometimes you start to doubt that these things can be put into words like a foot can be put into a shoe. You wonder if you should think of these things at all. Maybe you should simply call it a day no matter what it is. Each second thought that is stuck in your brain brings you nothing but pain and fear. Your only wish is to keep your mind on a leash from which it just cannot escape. There are a lot of things you’d really like to move into the light of reason. You have no means for that, though. You know that it’s wrong, and it will remain that way until you put things into the right words and then out of sight…

September 2009

(TO THE PAST)

…to the past, getting cold

like a rarely told

story out of a sweet

dream. It is incomplete

and almost as insane.

The wind drives a big rain

cloud that looks like a car

moving towards a star

sign. It is your star sign.

You look at the skyline

and then feel dizzy like

someone who fell off a bike,

leaving a long bloody track.

It leads all the way back…

…to the past, getting cold like a rarely told story out of a sweet dream. It is incomplete and almost as insane. The wind drives a big rain cloud that looks like a car moving towards a star sign. It is your star sign. You look at the skyline and then feel dizzy like someone who fell off a bike, leaving a long bloody track. It leads all the way back…

October 2009

(OBEYING TIME)

…obeying Time.

Obeying GOD,

calendars tie

years in a knot

of centuries.

Hours stretch in-

to days that freeze

somewhere between

words as they grow

upon a sheet

of one more snow-

white paper street

like mushrooms or

umbrellas in

the rain before

they can be seen

out of sight

and heard out of

earshot. Right

before your love

turns into hate

and hate turns back

into love late

at night, a black

hole in the wall-

paper is pierced

with stars that fall

and rest in peace,…

…obeying Time. Obeying GOD, calendars tie years in a knot of centuries. Hours stretch into days that freeze somewhere between words as they grow upon a sheet of one more snow-white paper street like mushrooms or umbrellas in the rain before they can be seen out of sight and heard out of earshot. Right before your love turns into hate and hate turns back into love late at night, a black hole in the wallpaper is pierced with stars that fall and rest in peace,…