don’t invite me to bed
do not caress my body
the hour is ticking
we are lined up each in its own line
clatter in a new battle
touches empty waiting for atomic bomb
 
we are waiting with the whole world
we are waiting with all of Europe
each in his own position
 
would we make love 
but the Ukrainians are waiting for the hardest
to our love
 
numbness
 
utilitarianism a bold humanistic principle
love perverted human attitude
ignorance better than another war
new eroticism political
new ecstasy brutal
when I feel Europe stiffening under your kisses
bad cheap porn
Darwin’s enthronement of the species
who is the victim
a gazelle or a cheetah or one that is wiped out from the line
 

should I surrender or fall
 
we are dying
we are rocking the universe
 
pathology drove untamed horses into the race of our love
 
you are stringing me to a thin thread
I am Ukraine when you seduce me
the collapse of a gigantic house
Kocbek’s poetry
women’s heritage without protection
 
who risk beneath our pleasure
who prophesies
love will save us from our burdens
how to change the fate of the species
that fucks when just wants love
 
blessing to the animals
blessing to the world
blessing of love
 
blessing to people
 

love is the key – I sense you think the same
we stand on the chessboard and compete in chess
love is for your farmers for your runners and for your horses
you sacrifice them for yourself –
I’m sorry it is so
I’m sorry for love that is destructive
but love is destructive
 
I have been observing red reflections among the stars for several nights
Mars or Venus
I gazed up at the sky with him when he pointed at her
I said Venera
he replayed Venus
I told you it is Venus
I added mildly as if I could only be like this

you said the sky would change forever
that a giant red star is in Orion
that a new cataract will burst
and the Supernova will freeze
the third star of Orion
that the wedding will be bright
like the ray of the early morning
and I will whisper on his chest
 
yes it is Venus
 

I’m in love with the eyes bright painful
I’m in love with the laughter loud bitter
I’m in love with irregularity
I’m in love with clairvoyance
I’m in love with wrinkles
I am in love with the rapture of courage
I’m in love with devotion
I’m in love with love
I long for the presence
for being myself
and when I lie I steal ecstasy
orgasm to sex
direction to flock 

it is not possible to grasp the front hand of the known
 
feel the arrow that pierces
feel the emptiness in the eye of the needle
stroke like a mother
from the lap to look into the eyes
to whisper
hope
and to love you

sit with me
don’t be afraid of my flame
I can’t suppress the she-dog in me
 
it is a shepherd
 
she sniffed until she smelled you
scratched out from the ground
it knew you were the one
even before I kissed you

what would happen
if I were to get off the chain completely
myself – my shepherd dog 
 
I carried the tingling in my genitals
intoxicated with the smell of dance
I barked at the moon
 
I fell endlessly in love
 
sit with me
don’t be afraid of my flame
I can’t suppress the she-dog in me
 

I weave a wreath of flowers
the symbolism is irrelevant
transience or awakened longing
waiting for the velvet of distant laughter
 
you on the canvas with flowers and he
under a low canopy on a bed of green moss
I want to meet you both by my side –
lumberer hermit 
poet imposter –
because today is Ash Wednesday
and I will throw the mascots into the fire
and I will banish the curse of 
starving body
 
only he has the destiny of a dancer
 
but sometimes touches take it away
 

it’s different than usual
it is different
when I hear the screams of nightmares and you say to me
I am saved
it is different
when I smell the sweetness of tomatoes and
I hear the laughter of stalwarts and see the shining teeth of shepherds
 
it’s different than usual
I smile at you differently
and I wait
when will we celebrate the birthday of us all again
 
but now I want like crazy women
the fool
like the one who does not see beyond
and who knows nothing
walk to the labyrinth and put it there
the stem of pink oleander flower

let it be the stem of dreams
stem of love
stem of hope
stem of curse

for the beggar which I gave my white doves
and released them from my chest five days ago
for the beggar who begs
once upon a time magic was sought in labyrinths

Golden Eurydice
I will not look upon the slopes of your breast

but now I can ask my beggar
to beg for a little while just for me
that will be different than it is otherwise

queens and kings begged for sentences 
on the first page of the second page
there was a king who came from Hanover
he said he is almost a Buddhist monk
he bought some nice things for me and said
he loves me and wants to marry me
 
as tall as a tree he danced
just a few steps and moves
as if he still was a shaman
even though he seemed kind
I knew he would be too strict master for me
 
a murmur in the distance and cough and pop
and bark of dogs
and murmur again like the spirits of night quarrel
 
the king slept as kings do in the middle of the night
the wind wandered between the crowns
reminded me to look at the moon again
and I ran into the room before the vampires caught me

in some other world
let me call it the world of red winds
you lead me along the path
and sweetening my desire for a midsummer night
 
you shamelessly roll me into the grass
to grab long stems
when I smell with the nostrils of our noses
pleasure of warm nights
dedicated to arsonists
fireflies singers and savages
 
the world of red winds is in gold
ending the beginnings of new beginnings
there was hunger on the first night
too bad for a ring shiny and bright
and my swollen breasts
 
and the worlds were not supposed to sense
this love
 

it’s time when spring goes into summer
and I’m alone
and I think of oasis
to the fetters of thy sustenance
 
foreign pain radiates through the membrane
it’s a war and it’s a new war and it’s my war
like sparkles in the air
like One Hundred Years of Solitude
like daffodils in Marquez’s novel
petals flutter in the air
tiny carnations and wild tulip

my sails are flapping under the sweetener
your pouch is fluffy
tiny spots like crystals on the face
the shadow of a sunflower on my genitals

your gift
I don’t feel haven just trembling
foreign genitals of married servants
hypocritical village thoughts
I am hysterically opposed to the order
my song runs down the foot
I am alone
alone and I think of oasis
to the fetters of thy sustenance
 the erotic we share
 

the incarnation of your fruit makes me wonder
will I be able to love again
will I be able to support you as a man
a wizard alongside your path
cherishing in my hands your golden heart
 
I love you more you can imagine
with hopelessness you tore my soul apart
rather than turn me into a glory
of your fluid breast and your hips and your joints
and your wide honest smile
 
I love you more you can imagine
so please rest in my tired eye
lay on my horny chest
find the miracle in my embrace
like I found in your vagina
my holly nest
 

sometimes I feel you like wind feels the sun
I hear your steps like sand 
I experience you like a mustang riding my heart

aooo aaaooooo

seductress I am
converting my words and our action

I am spending evenings alone
at night when I sleep I feel how they pass me like a whore
like a willing lonely woman
they trample me and ply with wine
that during the day I have to return to my notes
and in memories discover similarities of
literary tropes
metaphors
old and new sighs

aooo aaaa aaaaoooo

then I rise to you again
I plead I beg I pray
I picture you as a tiger or a wise monk
as a source of a reborn spring
I imagine that you love me without a profit
I imagine you without a contract as a king
who cares about every single figure
and again they call me whore
when I imagine everything else with you
and a stream of bitterness runs through my body

I throw myself into a dance
as if I stepped on the edge of a cliff
I jump into the rhythm

and when I reach the end
she is gently holding me in her hands

my black ballerina

I expect you as the enthronement of St. Mary
I expect like an immaculate conception
in her belly
torrents roar down the slope of my hairy skin
vagina is opening like a lily flower
I am blossoming
I am blossoming
but I am in love with poetry

forgive me
forgive me even more one last time tonight
we will not make love

I feel you could lean me against the table easily
take me to the stars
leave me in sin –
what I could do nicer with you
than hover among the clouds and the moon of my pleasure
what you could do nicer with me
than charge your instincts and forge yourself into a man

forgive
but I am in love with poetry
like a slave with his queen

I feel – with every verse I stab you deeper
and you still want me your witch of pleasure
and you do not understand when you warm my bed
like I could pour God himself into your palms
that I must tell the world
that I must give poetry
that I must avoid your pleading hands
which love me as if you sow the unity in me

they carry a false sense
that I cheat myself with poetry

I was brutally honest with him
again I could give him only a poem
I laughed like a wind trapped in the sails of a yacht
and spread arms like a bushy beech branch
surrendered myself to summer even though it was winter
warmed by the sun in the midst of January
my face became as red as the coat I wore

I said a few words and then I gave him time
we could make love again
as we have often done if only I prettied myself
we never hugged or held hands
but satiated ourselves without that

brutal honesty was more intimate than kisses
even though I spent the whole night in his arms
he suspected why I was rushing so happily to Vienna
but he knew I was not seeking love just adventure
he suspected my time was running out
so he decided
to give me everything I wanted
and I wanted sophisticated erotica
such
as was written in postulates of Euclidean geometry

“given any straight line segment
a circle can be drawn having the segment as radius
and one endpoint as centre”

we laughed
loudly chortling in the sun
as if we had just conceived a child
we drew a circle

I desire your hugs
when you touch me under the blossoming cheery
and we spread pink into the swan song’s harbour
on the grass next to Central Park’s lake

I yearn for our sun like the New York’s ski scrapers for the ski
I yearn for your river like Mississippi monkeys
I do not want to go home
I do not want to abandon us in the park of your day

I will stuff myself into your mouth and run between your fingers
I will stuff myself into your stomach like a sandwich
you had for breakfast and take you home
I do not want to leave the harbour without you
you broke my knee when you whispered you would marry me
and despite that you were tied deep to the bottom of my sea
like the moon to the earth
without I cannot spin

your lips are fecundated wild orchids
dark red and slightly yellow at the corners
temptation is the tower of the softest sounds
your calls
your pleases
signposts that guided me to life
you gently tickle me below my belly above the rose stem
where the home of my beginning is
my happiness
my wounded dancer
my love
where the beaten expectations will heal
yearnings gentler than the skin of the morning
shier than the jump of a beautiful young doe
for more
for more of your touch
for more of your hug
for more of your kiss
for more something that runs through me
that moves me inside like an electric ray of light
when I am with you
my dear

I see you in my future as well

you open my heart like a window
through which the blue sky smiles
while natter intelligently about magic
and comparing it to the taste of cream and juice

you open my heart like a window
through which the blue sky smiles
and I know that the poems are being printed today
and before noon I board the Vienna express

simplicity folded calmly
these were no crumbs of sugar
they would take too long for this morning’s pastry
they were the pieces I folded into my feet

on a train I made myself look good
I swapped coffee with tea and now
I am expecting the fullness of a different flavour

when I saw him last he said
he hates Irwins they annoy him
but in the meantime I ponder
that it’s time to read das Kapital
that it’s time to listen to das Kapital
that it’s time to watch das Kapital
that it’s time for neo-NSK
that it’s time to renovate the spaces and renovate the looks
that it’s time for folk art
for living in the village
for village customs and joys
for brandy and rye
for art that opens hearts and clears the veins
as the institution too often is as a hard mother
that combs hard or painfully

in the meantime I check if he wrote
he who is afraid of emptiness
because nina is in emptiness
will I mess it up again I wonder or he will this time
because then meeting is only hindrance
like blundering in the desert of the puzzling mind
I have you under my skin
he wrote
I admire the phrase it was his gift
we play with words
you form sentences of my superego
I replied

you open my heart like a window
through which the blue sky smiles
because magic is homed in a relation
because my poems are being printed
but reading erotic poetry may not be for men
I conclude
not even for him who wrote

and with a blue in my step
I enter
Vienna

where the sense of Love and Kapital is different