XLIII

my life revolves around

those places/squares and containers

for pills and creams

for books and screams

that i’ll visit regularly

in a desperate attempt to find

some sense of a lonesome

togetherness

in the lemon slice that drops

into my tea of recuperation

from the brink of desolated roads

and empty galleries

woman bird that carries me

on wings of ardent inspirations

to the other side of lethe

the blue star

the red-hot poke of the sun

the turquoise fish

smoothing the mind

the burst of children’s noisy laughter

shrieks and swills of innocent chatter

some birds rise to a new generation

mingling lively between

the sculptures as living art –

miro who smiles –

day dreaming drive thru’ veins of

communicating roads

threads from the deeper side

of tragic laughter to the hustle of

the trader’s nets

that catch the shoppers unaware

like buzzing flies that tumble/lie

wait/struggling for their end in time

amber tea and lemon slice

white skinned yellow egg slice

dark-pink tuna shreds

that ended on the green leaves

of salad/gherkins/red tomatoes

broad potato slices/black olives

like dark eyes stare in quiet disbelieve

inner sighs/moisture-like cries

then – into the mist of thoughts

and the blue light of his dreams

he leans his head on his arm

thru’ half open eyes

the image of the fiddler’s face

that shimmers from the glass on

his table –

calls him/beckons him

with his wide warm eyes.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’21.