My Bones Will Finally Get Their Cloak
Memories are walls
desecrated by graffiti of remembrance
well intentioned people
all around
and me
playing that „warm rabbit“ game
(take a guess who the rabbit is)
it feels like I'm one of those happy faces on Kerouac's road
I feel like an idiot
it has to feel like that when you deliver a piece of self so other can step on it
even though stepping on it was not intended
but
not knowing what to do with it
they just step on it
when mistake acquires a form of face
leave some words unspoken – they taught me
it is nicer to be humanly than fashionably conscious – they taught me
so i just have a message for you: eat ****,
you have devoured all of my cookies anyway so
by academic degree
babbitry of yours couldn't be washed – they failed
when iron clew entangles in your chest
oversleep
it will go away
it always does – they failed
wrist is accustomed on postponement
and I have forced expression
for every urbanely pickled photography
that whore karma laid down one nice slap on my cheek
well
on what is left of it
****
... man is it's evolution
* warm rabbit was notorious practice in jail for political prisoners in Yugoslavia (Goli otok) where when a new prisoner came prison guards would forced prisoners to line up in two rows and new prisoner had to walk through and other prisoners were forced to beat him with any object available until prison guards said it's enough.
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