One of These Days If Not Tomorrow

/, Blesok no. 67-68/One of These Days If Not Tomorrow

One of These Days If Not Tomorrow

Autumn in Skopje
Wind and Fog
From Now, until Forever (to S.N.I.)
I Do Not Paint, I Make Love to the Canvas
Stations In Between
I Decided – Definitely
Some People
You Can See His Misery

The color of his skin like a chameleon
adjusts to the environment
that will soon surround him –
Why not, the loam
has an aristocratic complexion.

His ears, thinned and sagging
(as if chained in lead earrings
for years)
support the “you don’t have to be
a doctor” – quick diagnosis
of a passer-by.

Skinny and small – as if
the whole contents that moves
around the bones in but a bone –
as if it rushes to be (not skin
and bones but) only bones.

The hair (which hair) rooted out and
grounded – from his army cap,
genes, smog, bad diet,
daily shampooing and plucking.

The hairs on his body waxed
being rubbed by sponges, shirts,
jeans, beds, cars, streets
and parks, winds, sand and sea.

The wrinkles on his face like drawings in the sand,
deep and hanging like imprinted
on a leather imitation, on leatherette,
that smells bad and has dandruff
in dust, sand, soil.

Many organs, a head with eyes,
a heart slower but no smaller,
liver and kidneys, lips…
And a penis which (luckily or not)
doesn’t have to be hard
to fertilize the ground.

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2018-08-21T17:22:57+00:00 October 12th, 2009|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 67-68|0 Comments