in the middle of the town
with just two keys
wander to what is not home
this freedom is
limited to a place
Things fall
walk out the mall
out of the cinema
from the observatory with your class
and wonder
when did it get this dark
drive from the underground
spread the curtains
turn off the lights
when
did it get
so dark
How to butcher a woman and a man
slept behind the sofa
curled inside our car
held breath in a closet
I’ve hurt my knee
(his body was heavy)
and not enough space
tell me
if I cut your finger off
will you take me?
Second marriage
a loaf of bread
soaked in the sink
or
one mouldy one?
she laughs still
three lives past
mad at my father for
never
dropping
a loaf of bread
and
leaving her unstirred
A cat
The drummer looked like
A national hero
Do piče
The cuffs of his denim jacket were curled up
He ended at my eye level
Miloš did shit himself in the back of the car
He told us
Pushing up his glasses
Home
In the middle of the town
With just two keys
At the verge of the summer and the night
I still had my blue Adidas flip-flops
This freedom is
Limited to a place
It was four years later that we all realised
We can’t live anywhere else
This is where we sit on Sunday mornings
Where the river wind never stops
Everytime I have the last night before I go
I come to the middle of the town
And promise
To never leave forever
Her
Things disappear in this house
Like Snickers
Chocolate
Yoghurts
Ice cream
It’s empty in here
Not just the fridge
The floor is cold and the windows dirty
I always have to wash my hands
Food that touches the counter is forbidden
When I sit in the bath
I fear bacteria
Things disappear in this house
Like love
Silence
Solitude
Privacy
You know what the other is doing
Doorknobs are noisy
Beds don’t hold their shape
And sometimes
Or maybe every day
I feel like it was better last year
I feel like she needs my presence
Like I was closer to becoming her friend
Looks
I want to look like Thom Yorke in the mornings
At times when I walk along glass walls
When I take showers
I want to look like Thom Yorke
Because asymmetry is the new black and white and noir
And because my skull is too round and heavy
Only if it was heavy like alabaster
Not kitchen knives
I want to have bones sticking out of my everything
You people disgust me
Can I sound like Saturn in the mornings
Like old Depeche Mode
Or like Police and their inverted rhythms
Could I please be someone else tonight
Maybe the girl I saw all those years ago
Maybe someone’s wife
A dog in a wealthy family
I just want to look like not me
Only a someone
The skin I live in needs to be washed
Some women have men of their lives. I have men and cars.
Every night before I fell asleep,
it was there. A bundle of car crashes, twisted metal, bumpers violently kissing
each other in affection and people, people dying swung over hot hoods of their
cars. I was imagining the motorway to Kosice getting sprayed by the remains of
human guts, drowning myself in thoughts of him staying caged in the interior of
the Corsa, nobody to resuscitate him. In his death, I found my own life, in the
destruction of both his and the car’s body was my own reincarnation.
Because in my imagination, I was
always the one to be there and watch him text, eat and drive at the same time
and then his elbow slowly slips off the steering wheel, Corsa hops a bit,
elegantly drifts into the wrong side of the road and crashes, crashes, crashes
in slow motion and I see the caroserie melt and reshape itself around our
bodies, form our last cocoon and our coffin.
This is where we die, all of us,
him, me and our Corsa, in the place in my mind I only dare to release at night,
when the town sleeps and he sleeps and our car sleeps and I am our solitary consciousness
flowing like motor oil inside the veins of us three.
Connection
I stood up
And didn’t look anywhere in particular
Because I just got that feeling
Of my ego dropping into the grass
In front of an improvised stage
My dignity was long gone by that moment
It started to be gone
The second that one said
Go introduce each other to each other
But when I stood up
And my ego fell
I was sure there was a connection established
The same kinda almost-physical connection
Like the one I’ve cut when I was eight
Walking down the city with my mother
And then I stopped
And let the string that connected us stretch
And pop
And I was by myself suddenly
But when I stood up
Instead of popping
I felt the string attach to my liver
For the next two months
The string will be stretching
Getting thinner and thinner
Until it’s as thin as the capillaries in my fingers
And then
I hope it breaks with an inaudible crack
And I
Will be
By myself suddenly
