tears dry on their own

Transient weight between cerebellums

 

Yesterday, rocking on the bus, I vomited the contents of my only meal

The engine failure in gray mass looks through the windshield

My position was too politically "incorrect"

 

The question is how the female seagull is said in English in just one word

Because a female seagull is not the same as a seagull, if we are guided by gender-sensitive language

 

She is sitting on the boards of an unknown pier

Dressed in black, as always, looking somewhere

Far outside towards me

 

When I wake up in the morning with a transient weight between cerebellums

In a figurative sense, it is difficult to explain the mechanical maneuvering in the bus

 

Steps with the dog on the podium

Elderly people with incises on their faces

I would stand by waiting for tears dry on their own

 

________________________________________

 

11.54 h – 12.02 h

01/01/22

Saturday

(West London)

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

the handles pull the suitcases into the eyelids

I don't know if I'll last

life breaks down as we drive small electric cars

in the amusement park that once existed, we drive with our feet instead of wheels

the steps turn on that board

parting is a word like an apple

the bodies move, my friend and I

children who are not sure they want to live

 

___________________

 

completed at 3 and 28 p.m.

12/30/2021

Thursday

Silence walks if possible

 

Occasionally she would stare openly at me, without restraint and forced decency. Then I would ask her what she was thinking. Nothing - she would answer. The tone was flat. Her gaze would always be blank. She seemed to be looking at a certain point. Then I would stare at her pupils. Those few minutes lasted a long time. I would feel pain in my brain. Unspecified place. Uncombed hair would fall over her cheeks. Thin. Worn out. Seemingly an answer with no real connection to the question. 'Nothing'. I would give up the conversation even before the conversation started. I would make coffee in a little black machine that sometimes turns itself on. I would go to the window. I would try to see what it was in the distance, even though I basically knew. Above the roofs in the distance, a green straight line. Actually, behind, but it's not that important now. Field. Green field. Weed field. Garbage field. And the hospital. A gray tall building that rises like a wall to my left. I remembered the poetry of Anne Sexton. The sun was shining. And yet, everything was as gray and heavy as the hospital walls. Nothing, I thought. I went back to the other room to see what she was doing. She sat on the couch, looking at the same green line in the distance.

- What are you thinking about?

- About nothing. So....

The pain in my brain grew more and more. That knocking iron wrist. One o'clock will be soon. Lunch needs to be set.

- Come we'll eat together. There are potatoes and fish.

- I'm not hungry yet.

She would continue to stare into an indefinite spot on the line of demarcation of the red roofs of ground-floor houses and weed fields that belongs to no one. The sun is moving low. Clouds follows fast. I would eat, as usual, alone.

 

 

23.34h

03/12/2021

Friday

/West London/