you can't write about love

a matter of tremendous comprehension
that requires much anticipation
and most of your attention
is more of a dissimulation
that always suffers alteration:

of all the tastes, colors and shapes
one type of love eliminates
all others.

sweet love is polite and shy
much like a big girl who failed as a spy

and bitter love is even worse
it's gloomy and at time morose

but sour love is march in bloom
it's not at all romantic doom
it's when you turn into an optimistic fool
and scream over the rooftops "you're so cool!"
only to find a minute later it's not how you presume.

gulp

she looked at him and tried to say
"hooray!
you're here to stay!"
but much to her future dismay
he only came to stay one day
and then he'd be quick on his way
to ecuador

her words were stuck
hit by a truck
but she laughed and talked for hours
about ghosts and films with maurs
and didnt mention anything
about the feelings that would ring
inside of her

he wasn't stuck at all, he was ablaze,
and gave her such a funny gaze
then left for ecuador.

this boy who took life sip by sip
left on a neverending trip
because this girls' words wouldn't drip.
(she suffered from a rare case of severe sincere censorship)

angry rugs and angry bugs

on my way to buy a rug

i met a little angry ladybug

who claimed that his name was doug

and all i did was give a shrug

doug's no lady name, he protested

but i felt a bit molested

so i very quickly had to split

(buying rugs put me in an awful fit)

now i think i could've been much kinder

cause afterwards doug met a spider

who was absolutely interested

so doug found his end, ingested.

ballad of a porky woman

paul was a polish poker player
with one bad habit: to fart in the foyer
of the big casino where he used to mop
paul was hip and his hip used to pop

his job as a janitor made him very happy
he would hum and sway and be in a good mood
but his mean, fat wife only wanted food
so his life at home was really really crappy

so paul played more poker, stayed out all night,
while his wife ate and ate with all of her might
he didnt go home for a year and a  month
and when he returned his wife was crying broth!

she had flooded the house with her tears
and all the windows and walls had greasy oil smears
she had quintupled in size
and had breadcrumbs in her eyes.

her hands had become giant spoons
and all of her body parts resembled balloons
her hair was like rice noodles before boiling
alas, there was no where she'd be going.

so paul sat and thought what to do
and got a great idea that would make money, too:
"come in for the meal of your life
a bite of poker playing polish paul's porky wife!"

it was a great success, everyone spread the word
people came in from all over the world!
in a month she was done
not dead, not at all, but to paul's surprise as slim as a cruton!

paul couldn't believe it, she became so nice
she was smiling at last and didn't think of rice
so he took the million dollars he made playing poker and serving his wife as a meal
and they eloped together to live the wondrous, happy life of freewheel.

The Story of the Doubt

The Story of the Doubt

Threw down the phone

Threw up my bot ton

Threw nicest things out -

Remained with my doubt

Who did it? - I thought.

Who stole my Van Gogh?

Who knew that I'd put

The keys in my suit?

Who discover my vault?

Took it by assault?

It was safe by default

It must be my fault!

Even walls are suspicious.

This is not auspicious!

Maybe it was the cat

Hm – she did look at me like that...

Or maybe it was – oh! My bird!

Most cute in the world!

That filthy old parrot -

HE wanted my karat!

Or maybe my fish -

I'm sure that he wished

To beautify its shell.

You'll so go to jail!

I'm sure that I'm close,

I can smell with my nose!

The burglar is close,

His smell – it still flows.

I'm wondering in circles,

I am close..., I'm precocious...

I just need a break -

And then revenge I will take!

And then I hit the bottle,

And then I hit the bottom.

Of the glass that is.

Got lost in its fizz...

The Mellon - A Metaphor of the Future

The Mellon - A Metaphor of the Future

"Today we'll get efficient!"

[And so the story started]

We'll make the mellon square

We'll stop being retarded!

We'll make one sheep be 2,

We'll make genetics better,

We'll show it in a Zoo,

And then we'll schedule weather!

We'll feed bottox to seals,

We'll teach marmots to dance,

Oh, Future! - you reveal

So brilliant, enhanced!

We'll make kids go to school,

And drink lots of green tea.

All scientist, all cool

We'll all turn out to be.

We'll make things cause we can.

We'd twist things cause we could.

We'll restart Frankenstein

And turn fire to wood!

"Today we'll get efficient!"

[And so the story started]

We'll make the mellon square

We'll stop being retarded.

smth smth

fisty wristy

much cry and little wool
there' way too many lambs in-stable,
unresurcting fists of peace,
and thoughts knitted in cables.

too many sips of thirst
way outdated salt embraces
too many shades of sin
too many sliveless aces.

myself am gonna dance it soon
and slide and leave it senseless
can't live the only rule
this sanity is madness.

and there are cream pies that solve a lot of issues.