ANTONYM

I am a word that is opposite
in meaning to another
my content is clearly stated on the bottle

I am of a contrary kind
the other of a contrasted pair
I am no simile

I am against stop at the traffic light
anti bathroom labels man and woman
(how about human?)

I don’t want to be in contrast with you
make me lose my balance
let me be your synonym

THE HOUSE I LIVE IN

my desk is crammed with extinct languages
without living descendants in sight
my ceiling heavy with gruesome attacks by serial killers
survived against all odds
my garbage can is a handful of banalities
my plate full of wars fought in vain
my fridge fraught with tears torn on the barbed wire
carefully stored and deep frozen for future use

my lamp shows me life in the spotlight
though it hates being left alone with my thoughts of tomorrow
swallowed by the sun
my coffee cup gives me a sardonic smile every time I tell it
I want him to love me in person, not in the abstract
my doors scream false pride and irregular accomplishments
my baggage begs me to reconsider
my mouse my only ally, deleting geography

my floor is a liquid mixture of
visceral bleeding and spilled brains
my mirrors aching mourners at the funeral
(blessed are not those who mourn)
the insistent audience demanding
encore after encore
after…
(sorry to disappoint you. I didn’t stay to the end of the movie)

my state of being is
a series of running and passing plays
my state of mind elsewhere
my head, a concert with fireworks timed
to the music of untuned percussion instruments
an extended clattering of pans and cutlery in the kitchen
my happiness beyond compare –
the medieval conception of justice


 

via THE HOUSE I LIVE IN ~ BOJANA STOJCIC — MORALITY PARK

CORRIDA DE TOROS

An adrenaline-seeking town dressed in red and white
runs down the cobblestone streets like a hungry river

in the fierce heat of the Mediterranean sun
enraged bulls show no mercy

to those who slip and fall
who slip and fall

a ruthless wolf pack in San Fermin
with days passing between feedings

locates, singles out
and stalks

its prey from a distance
staying out of sight until it’s ready to attack

not a deer, not a moose
not a bison, not an elk

but a beaver, feeble and sightless,
breathing the air of placid sufficiency

opportunistic feeders, unable to retain saliva
within their mouths, circle and test before

bringing the victim to the ground
the conquest of paradise

the animal does not die of blood loss or shock
but of shame


 

via CORRIDA DE TOROS ~ BOJANA STOJCIC — MORALITY PARK

WOMEN OF THE SEA

Every year films take place on the French Riviera
Hookers stroll in and out of the big hotels
Lo sceicco bianco
jerks off in the shower
picturing putes de luxes, well-dressed and well-mannered bombshells
for Arabs in white when the Sun goes out.
Smiling contentedly
groping, growing, probing, rolling, exploding into
girls who keep their mouths shut and
legs open.

It’s been going on for 60 years, movies
under the glare of the spotlights and
sex in the world with
polarized sunglasses, protection against prying eyes
denying the redundant stare
hand in hand in Cannes. Yacht girls on the alluring Cote d’Azur
a balmy playground of the rich and famous.
Sun-soaked sophistication.
The chain clanks as the anchor falls through the water
cars pull into the bay to unload fresh meat
classy mesdemoiselles like ships make headway against the gale
a gateway to success.
Professional prostitutes, B- and C-list Hollywood actresses, beauty
queens and whimsical models dreaming
of a world at peace when needed
kept close at hand, nude and half nude,
always in the mood despite
remarks made in bad taste.
Combination boilers providing hot water on demand.

Winemakers babble about the wine production. The murmur of the waves.
Grape selection, cultivation, pressing, aging, bottling, tasting
wine and girls with perky breasts who
smile at men willing to spend a fortune to relish
the bubbly taste of diamonds,
Armand de Brignac and Dom Pérignon
Prisoners finally taste freedom. A sparkling taste of
attainability.

Orphaned children.
Street children sleeping rough.
Malnourished mothers giving birth to underweight babies on TV.
Scraggy children choke themselves awake on flies
swarming inside their mouths. Squawking birds fly low.
Switch it off, the craggy voice is heard
his words slurred
tucking into lobster stew
harbored in the big blue.

White Pearl Caviar, white truffles,
white moose cheese made in limited quantities for
men in white.
The fish bite every day. Good fortune.

A fragrant pine-clad coastline at sundown
dreaming in colors.
A recurrent dream about falling from great heights.
A wife dreams of going back to school.
A single mom of a two-year old dreams of going to America
daycare and neckwear at the back of her mind.
A girl leans against the headboard
fantasizing about a life outside of rent hotel rooms.
A dream vacation, a dream car, a dream house in the country
A dream hub and a couple of rugrats
A golden retriever in the basket
A recurring dream about happily ever after.

A gift for elderly men’s eyes they were
the most beautiful mermaids with a rare talent for
grinning, loving and
making good use of their talents.
Nature gifted them with a fine body
and a strong stomach, so they thought,
a little piece of heaven bought and
brought sealed in an envelope
their aching legs gave way, and they almost fell.
50 grand worth happiness.


 

via WOMEN OF THE SEA ~ BOJANA STOJCIC — MORALITY PARK

LE DEJEUNER SUR L’HERBE

sprawled figures basking in the impressionist sun
shooting through a break in the clouds

he said
you are forest thick brush strokes of my outdoors

a window opening on landscapes devoid of human presence
my lack of sharpness, my fine edges

he said
you are my fleeting glimpse of forgotten languages

an ephemeral moment
lived without a straight jacket

he spoke of water lilies and japanese bridges
imprisoned in an imperfect symmetry

and a dream he had of a cuckoo
pardoned by time

your heart is river shaped
he said

your winds intensely colored and homeless
howl through my trees

i was his mother’s womb
he said

throwing his elongated shadow
on my walls as

I flung off my everything to expose
my naked body to the firing squad


 

* Originally published at Morality Park

I MADE UP MY MIND TO HATE THE WORLD TODAY

today I hate people with exuberant smiles
and a lighthearted disposition
people lavish in their praise and profuse in thanks
today I don’t accept apologies
I don’t need analogies
today I hate full pages of your lives in technicolor
abundantly illustrated with exclamation marks
today I hate your priceless
memories, porcelain compliments and
your time flying like space rockets
today I hate your plastic Jesus on the mantelpiece
I hate your starry skies and
wave height forecasts in the Pacific
today I hate your piquant dreams and spotless family values
your impenetrable woods and busty secretaries
with an aging obsession
today I hate ha-ha anecdotes and phrases
degenerating to clichés
today I hate cut-and-dried dialogues and
unnecessary fireworks
today I hate obvious truths
today I hate myself
(remind me why you love me today)


 

* Originally published at Morality Park

DÉJÀ-VU

people are busy doing chores and doing harm
running into and over
vacuuming and sweeping their lives
under the carpet
devouring the world’s resources and
their prey in one bite
hurting their children
losing their sense of duty, weight and battles
dragging their voids like wounded animals
diving in the shallow waters
raping my brain
wasting my time
again

I have been here before
I have seen
I have done
I know this man, his cat, his wife’s lover, their neighbor’s gun.
I know this life. This world. This moment. Frozen in time.
This overlapping of events. Repetition of sounds.
I am already gone
empty spaces echo with my shouts.


 

* Originally published at Morality Park