Leaving
Trees fell on the ground, wide open doors, and a black
dress under the stones. We took the roads, other
windows, and other places.
The dog turned his ear; it didn’t wag his tail. What we
learned, we called ours, nothing, nothing — only a
painted plate in the child’s room, if you took it with you,
perhaps things would have been better (I wonder whether
it would have died). Deep carefreeness for lack of
ownership, he said, and lack of hatred. And the pain feels
tiring at night, thus stooped over the aluminum pot,
the steam hides the hand that holds the ladle. You have
forgotten; they have forgotten you.
Hypnotized world quietness. Given up keys.
The hotel manager talks to Autumn in front of the stable.
The prison guard was tied to the railings. A lardy star onto
the chimney.
Broken glass on the soil. Be careful, don’t walk barefoot.
The dead men,
although silent for years, don’t forget their share.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763785

At the Movie Theater
I’ll wear the new red overcoat.
You will wear your blue shirt and jeans.
One of our favored films will be shown
the ‘Lover’ or “Casablanka’
or “Hiroshima my Love”.
I shall cry as always.
You’ll kiss the volcano of my palm.
You’ll caress my hair
softly that it won’t break because of
a memory fluttering in your mind
that we’ve lived these events
in the past, back then
in Vienna, beginning of the century
in a teke in Konstantinoupoli
or even behind a garden.
Your hand won’t touch my body
it’ll simply be part of it
like the phallus
or one of the Fates
and that way sitting
next to each other
in complete darkness
among all these people
precisely in the now
we’ll swim together
inside each other.
And finally when the black whale swallows us,
look, we shall say,
that day we went to the movie.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562908

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FPRGYMQ

Void
Don’t call it void or meaningless,
this poem, only empty of what
you’ve deleted its meaning and
still full of twists and mental corners
robbed of its depth like
his palms nailed on the cross
didn’t let the tree limb
extend and gain wisdom
but it was spring
their boiling blood
forced their eager hands
to rob this poem
of its unwritten meaning
nothing on the branch of the birch
but the lone owl crying
give me strength and give me air:
wisdom filling the abyss

https://draft2digital.com/book/3745982#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763769