A Bird that Breathes with Gills
#9 How did you paint the bird? – they asked the painter.
I flew with it. I was a blue bird and an eagle over the Carpathian,
a professional gull and I fished in the Mediterranean
I was a swan in the Ohrid Lake and I had nothing
tartish behind the grace of a princess.
Look! The dove from the canvas eats from my hand.
It feels that the frame is not a cage and that on it
it will fly to the end of the world, and beyond.
#10 How did you paint the fish? – they asked the painter.
I swam with it and as a fisherman I courted it.
We touched the bottom of the ocean and we set swimming
Towards the surface, towards the warm of light hanging
from the hook.
It posed for me in a pan. I know its smell, its taste.
I lick my fingers after each bite form the palette
but I mind not to gulp down a bone from the brush.
#11 How did you paint the woman? – they asked the painter.
I didn’t paint it. I only laid her down on the easel
and made love to her – once, twice, three times…
But she seems to like more. Look how she sways
her ass – I’ll have it one more time from behind.
Nooooo! Don’t touch the canvas! It’s still wet.
Will it ever dry?
#12 But what linked the bird, the fish and the woman? –
they kept asking.
The penis, the center of the Universe – said the painter
and dipped the brush in the lake in order
to paint the tits on the sky.