Fruit

“Go for the low hanging fruit,” he said.

Uncomprehending, she paused, then smiled:

“Oh, you mean the testicles!”

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

…

 

 

 

 

 

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Fresh…

She simpers and blows him a kiss.

(Some kind of idyll and bliss…)

He feels a tantalizing breeze on his cheek,

in his mind

he sees her…

*Fresh*,

fresh

as Palmen am Meer,

Tanzmusik aus Kambodscha.

… Schöne Tag,

1968.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

…

 

 

 

 

 

Back In “the Day”…

Right day, wrong year…

I watch some TV,

This thing they show me…

Alas, it’s all too apparent,

mediocrity pays.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

…

 

 

 

 

 

Funeral Pyre… Flames Burn Long After Body’s Gone.

The death of a loved one,

so traumatic, I’ll never forget,

and always regret,

the torrent

of destruction that followed.

Unholy purgatory,

minions of hell,

perverted concepts of revenge.

All so unnecessary,

curse and theft,

it breaks my heart

perpetually.

Life amongst the living dead,

alas, selfish,

perfidious clan.

Goodbye.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

…

 

 

 

 

 

Utter Filth

Lilli’s mother,

who remains at heart a Nazi,

once told her:

it is good for children to play in dirt.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

…

 

 

 

 

 

A Study In Peace & Quiet

He’d drunk enough to be honest, open.

“You’re not like other women,” he said,

“You know, they go on and on and on, non-stop talking, idiotic things. I wanna scream SHUT THE FUCK UP. Women like that, hah, they’re the main reason men like blowjobs. You know, with a mouthful of cock, finally she’s quiet!”

He laughed at his joke and swallowed another drink.

I raised my eyebrows and remained silent, smiling condescendingly.

Men and women aren’t so different after all.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

…

 

Maggot Salad

I reflect, instantly,

subconsciously,

involuntarily,

and overwhelmingly aware,

all too aware,

I shake my throbbing head

(it doesn’t help):

such pressure,

over such a shitty banality,

minutes and hours of life

wasted,

repeatedly,

day after day,

out of control,

rabbit hole,

frog spawn,

maggot salad,

horse meat,

human flesh,

wasps’ nest,

crumbling mess…

the garbage may

or may not

be collected.

…

Triviality sucks.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

…

 

Bus & Princess…

Bus and Princess,

two words that surely do not belong in the same sentence,

yet, today the absurdity of my reality

coalesced,

hitting home again,

with those very words,

clearly heard,

leading me to despair,

and introspection.

… Am I beyond repair?

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

…

 

In Café Mozart, I Will Order Several Coffee Sobieskis…

“Merd-iterranean!” I repeated, fawning.

“Oh, Mozart, you’re so witty!”

I shivered as he slid his hand up my leg, indecently probing my nether regions, groping, squeezing.

I simpered, obsequious.

… How could I say no to the genius?

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

…

 

Досье CCXXIII: Today the Sun even shines…

The villagers were happy,

today was a respite

after last night’s storm.

A chance to repair

the damage and destruction

wrought by the howling winds.

What fortune (!),

today the Sun even shines,

indeed moods rise,

as they prepare to batten down the hatches

for, tomorrow or the next day,

another storm cometh.

…

Commendable, stupid people,

they are functional.

… I am but a philosopher,

a futility phobic,

screaming myself to sleep:

“Let me off this fucking boat!”

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

…