Details |
Machineiq Machineiq Poem
Stretched t-shirt, chains, a mournful tune,
wide smiling guy, a book unsewn,
light hands, light hand, a happy ending,
few hearty words, heaven's wide champaign,
black and white cat and vivid dreams
in which I'm scared and guy's obscene,
this spring and what's to spring of it,
vanilla shake, banana split
and all my love - somehow diffused:
you every now and then get used
to any kind of any lie...
In sober fact I would have died
for happy endings on and on.
And if you doubt, then - yes, that corn.
13.03. 2013
Copyright © Machineiq Machineiq | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Machineiq Machineiq Poem
“Don't appear so scholarly, pray. Humanize your talk, and speak to be understood.”
Moliere
This is a sad decade.
Nothing is served on a plate.
You order a handling and wait.
You order a book and a pizza.
Despite all the handful ways,
frustration and "what it takes"'
you still want the same:
a story, a bite and a sup, and a visa.
You get what you ask for, again,
but you're never sea legs with yourself,
so you choose to get used to a friend,
yes, you do, unaccustomed schizo.
Don't expect it from me, pray.
All you people are good for is gambling.
May this make you sad for a day:
I want nothing but smart handling.
31.10. 2014
Copyright © Machineiq Machineiq | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Machineiq Machineiq Poem
I am
silver silk, brown eye-shadow, pink shoes.
Blue kitchen. I mean sad. Missing you.
I am
broad bed, tv-tower, your mail.
Check-ins, flights. Staying high all day.
I am
french fries, nightmares, hair-cuts.
No coffee, no tea, no sluts.
I am
"please, go", "please do", "please, wait".
I am
"no way", "seriously", "sounds great".
I am
on-line, next month, last week.
I am
tag, no hide-and-seek.
I am
colour ink nail polish, no watch.
Blue eyes. I mean sad. Twitter notch.
26.07. 2012
Copyright © Machineiq Machineiq | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Machineiq Machineiq Poem
Alexythimic, strand and wasted.
Insomniac and therefore ill.
Despair has knocked the door,
got in.
Posting those pictures,
killing time
has never helped
to adjust living.
They're unaware of
a thanksgiving
you wish you had and fail to run.
You end up with the bathroom pun.
You end up with the tune you choose
as soundtrack to your experience,
an out of body.
Perseverance
has never won.
C'mon.
At least you get to know
the reasons.
At last you know.
As sure as a gun.
19.08. 2016
Copyright © Machineiq Machineiq | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Machineiq Machineiq Poem
I've got the manners of a lizard,
yet she keeps saying I'm a wizard
She is so happy self-misleading:
she's sick to watch her step
I get myself a beer and sip it
She fails to learn, no way to drip it:
neither a word, nor any trifle,
just nothing coud have helped
I get myself a shot and watch walls
Out of her purse a mirror falls,
it does not break but kinda tolls.
She watches it and goes: "Yep.."
And on and on the bar's full
and on and on I stay cool.
Unless the walls sway,
then
I need another pull.
2013
Copyright © Machineiq Machineiq | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Machineiq Machineiq Poem
I'd give everything away
to get back to the pricks of Camden,
hear them rattle by and get lost at the dawn.
It's about time to admit
the loss of virtue
of being able to love in return.
I'd find comfort losing my identity,
overwhelmed with chaos of that town.
And I'd soak to stitches in the rain
walking mile up depthward Chalk farm.
On a rare sunny day of August,
tracing back my grievance at it's best,
I am finishing a chapter of a novel
said to be the most productive years.
Sounds of bargaining and getting drunk,
fused together,
steal a pointless smile.
Taxi driver, offering cocaine,
helps to get my **** together for awhile.
God, give me another night like this.
Even better if - another year.
Maybe then I'd learn again to feel.
Maybe then I'd learn again to care.
10.08. 2016
Copyright © Machineiq Machineiq | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Machineiq Machineiq Poem
I browsed the notes
of the past two years
in search of you
once keen and common;
There I found all
I thought was gone,
lost on way up
or sank in sorrow
for how things turned.
And if I learned
anything new -
not much, just few
remarks, amiss and race.
As birthday gift I got your face:
totally stoned, from late '90s.
On canvas.
Never asked for this.
19.08. 2014
Copyright © Machineiq Machineiq | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Machineiq Machineiq Poem
When does this come to an end?
In-between your foe and my friend,
apathy checks us in,
as its picnic's about to begin.
And I never misheard you, did I?
Yet you're not able to explain.
This time window I look through is dirty
and remains so after the rain.
I inwrap myself into spring sun rays
as the youngsters skateboard by.
And the only thought that is staying
is the painfully pulsing "why?"
You see, runners remind of him,
and the cars coloured gold or stone,
wine bottles on the shelves of the shops -
haunting objects, being hard to control.
So next time just let me mishear.
And greet apathy in advance.
Since I know for a girl like me -
no dice after a likely chance.
30.04. 2014
Copyright © Machineiq Machineiq | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Machineiq Machineiq Poem
l taste salt on my lips and it causes thirst,
and my head is about to burst,
and I’m good for nothing,
and it still hurts
though nobody ever left negative blurbs
and I’ll go so far
as to say even positive were
I erase it all and draw smoke in my lungs,
and lickety-split I rush and run,
being bruised by stir ding,
which is no fun
and I wish I was a peg too high for sound
and I’ll go so far
as to become a deaf one
18.04. 2010
Copyright © Machineiq Machineiq | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Machineiq Machineiq Poem
Have you ever met
a real one dead girl?
Shared a word with her?
Made her smile?-
well, if so, you're mislead,
'cause dead girls
don't get jokes,
after have walked their miles.
You see, they're
pretty much like me:
silent, self-moved,
aloof and cold.
Guns don't scare them that much,
apart from tattoos
and the truth, which
the latter unfold.
For a dead girl
nothing matters at all,
except for the future life;
"why?" is she so, "what happened?"
are never a clue,
nor the answers she can provide.
Being that detached
needs a special skill,
but as soon as they're dead,
they're not after teaching.
So in case you see one around
in a while,
go straight forward to your own
job-about *itching.
19.01. 2015
Copyright © Machineiq Machineiq | Year Posted 2016
|