On Loneliness by Ivan Lašán

19/05/2010 22:15

 

dropped off on the edge

you see her Face a Sun Too Pale

 

there is Smoke from her

burning bridges

billowing somewhere

 

you smell it go as you stand

“you’re in a wrong song

but it’s your song”

it’s the constant Howl of

her Revving Engines—

 

and not even spitting out

that Lemony Saliva

would make you feel

any haughtier

 

for you know and—ah, so well

this Rocky Desert always likes:

a Young Man’s Flesh

 

(2005)

 

photo: Katarína Koreňová