Walk

Clouds are sneaking on the faces of the puddles;
the image of my puzzled body parts
reflected in the aspic of the water;
Above me
A dingy lady sweeps on the balcony,
her knocking legs are yellow spikes;
She moves as the balustrade tries to cover her eyes;
the falling grime reaches the pond,
drawing trembling circles on the soft ice.
I cross the street while holding on to my stretchy cells yarn ---
why are our memories so vague?
Why do these buildings radiate sadness?
I admire the entrances on their jaws;
they have huge lips
which sometimes spit a person onto the sidewalk.
My contemplation is part of the entropy
with the whine of the city and the presence of disorder.
Today is Sunday, the day of social eating,
Two Legs enjoy a warm liquid cooked from the flesh of dead animals.
Made from them.
The rituals take place behind these dark,
square holes they call windows;
Caves, caves, caves.
Caves, caves, caves.
The consistency of my brain is like Pedro gum.
The physics of impermanence calculates
every movement in the landscape.
So it might try to mimic the dance of the swaying spruce trees
or the mischievous observation of the squirrel.
It could figure out all the degrees and cosines;
I can see it giggling
and sticking its tongue out over and over,
My absurd fears.
Yes, there is nothing terrible.
There are only buds of life's promises on the birches,
happiness and love.
Spontaneous mind colouring.
The spring-scented breeze sweetens,
but it could not be because it has no taste,
though the breeze is a great pickpocket,
its soul-healing ability could put the secret beauty back into my pocket,
while the clouds remove the never-happened movements from my adrenals.
I miss your smile. I miss it so much.
Your hands should be here and strike my shadow.
Gradually I will try to get out of the world.
No more sadness, no more evil woohoos.
Your imaginary arms entwined with my sighs.
Liturgy of the early afternoon.
Shall I hope?
While the light rubbed my face,
giving the wrinkles around my eyes a nasal tap,
wrinkles possessed vast expanses on my head,
occupying the corner of my eye,
allowing the tired light to sip tears.
I am an anhydrous stone.
who wanted to walk home,
but It had to notice it did not have it.
I wish for a safe place where
I should not sleep on the kitchen floor.
All my steps have already been made and forgotten.
Please, stop my silence.
Talk to me for two seconds.
I will be grateful to you.
My hair is combed like a whippet;
I help the air by holding the hatred
while drinking from those seductive bloodstreams in your heart.
I walk through the angry traffic jam,
the cars farting toxic air.
Shaking noises.
I thought about the meaning of sinlessness.
Why do we pretend to appreciate it?
--- strength and hairy, thick fingers
with sullied nails to grasp are much more appreciated;
Streets are grey canals,
How peaceful frozen waves.
How heartless murmurs.
Why do people think that removing
negativity from their minds will save them?
And besides, what the hell is negativity?
Caves, caves, caves.
Caves, caves, caves.
These fat egos are bigger than the radius of Jupiter,
I'd go down and stroke the naked rose bushes
in the little front gardens,
they have their own egos too,
but they do not feel sorry for themselves,
like us.
nothing could save us because it might be too late.
we acted like an infection on this planet,
and our self-confident self-love was a ludicrous vanity.