.HaRp PoEtRy.
So I am writing poetry
so you know
it is not quite like a pottery
the class that you find to attend
to create a universe
out of a small piece of shitty mud

so you know
I am writing poetry
it is not quite like a random talk
you conduct having three beers
attacking your hollow mind
mind that has been lost
from the surface of reality

So you know
I am still writing
to give you some clue
it is not like being on a first date
when you hide more than give out
I am giving out
myself to you

So I write poetry
in the calamity of ideas
unrefutably true
at the moment of conjuring them
oh, I touch them with eyesight
and sense them with every step
of my uncertainty

So I wrote a poem
a poem full of letters, words,
conceiving thoughts
of my own existence
forging through the swamps
of my own foolishness
I am giving out.

once the night brings the moment
when limbs just limbs are
and elbows seem to soothe
the body into a position
of storytelling


far away

a battle rings
in ears of pedestrians
crossing the paths
i welcome all the sound
to be paraphrased
properly in the name
name of moroseness

the one that comes and goes
like flowers in the spring
and in the winter when
they die to be covered
by holy holy snow
and crude breeze

that is how one prepares
himself for the discoveries
of that night
you can just taste it

penelope ma poslala
na dno mojich myslienok
oceanom posiatych
v dnesnych novinach
klasickych reci
nachadzam smiech a plac
avsak nie detstky