Unisons

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for me, it is thinking with a wooden voice; it has ambushed me. guardian of nothingness, astray in a drum. 

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cursing the scrub, look, plants are mocking us. ricocheted arrow of our disgust will now grow from within. plague of small misfortune, oh you colorful dim dreams and you steamed little runaway birds.

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(a debate)

unforeseen young enemy or an arrival like a spitting bubbly part of the speech of the consonant army opposite the beauty of the gang of coiffure vowels singing with their tails in the muscular speed of morning

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(Bertolt Brecht)

looking right and left looking right and left not seeing anything really not seeing anything until the misty coat until the path through black woods the path through black woods establishes a tree a thread a shivering evil

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Beauty passing down the street on one leg. Red tufts paint the sky, a hidden sign, a question of evil and torment raised.

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a police fly hits the gong. flesh drips from the window. call out that I have dissipated.

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a poem is a cluster of horror imprisoned in a pillar

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I hear you are shrinking (some city went under the name winter). How did it let out its melody? Everyone suffers from routine, indeed, forgetting the flowers. And everyone there quietly feasts (attention, correction). They kicked her out and as soon as you realize, she laughs, well, it’s over.

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(Patriotism)

I will take the sabre and inscribe a sound in a piece of air. A kind of stately melody, foreigner’s gait planted in the path. A flock of souls from the shrank. A kind of job in bass, a gray-greenish operatic ghost.

Suklađa

Suklađa

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to je za pomislim drvenim glasom; već me vukao. stražar ništavila zalutao u bubnju.

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proklinjanje grmlja, pogledaj, bilje nas ismijava. odbijena strijela našoj gadosti ono će odsad rasti iznutra. kuga male nesreće, vi šarenci mutni sanci i vi oparene slatke male ptice bjegunice.

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(debata)

nepredviđeni mladi neprijatelj ili dolazak kao pljuckavo pjenušavi dio govora vojske suglasnika nasuprot ljepoti bande natapiranih samoglasnika pjevane s repovima sve u mišićavoj brzini jutra

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(Betold Brecht)

gledajući desno i lijevo gledajući desno i lijevo ne videći ništa ne videći ama baš ništa do maglene dolame do puta crne šume do puta crne šume uspostavi drvo nit drma zlo

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Ljepota prolazaše ulicom na jednoj nozi. Crveni čuperak namaljan put neba, neki skrovit znak, u zlu i muci dostignuto pitanje.

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policijska muha udari u gong. meso kaplje s prozora. doviknuti da sam se rasuo.

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pjesma je cluster užasa zatočen u stupu

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Čujem da se smanjujete (neki grad se javio pod imenom zime). Kako je samo ispustio melodiju? Svi pate od rasporeda; naravno, zaboravljaju cvijeće. A tamo se svak potiho sladi (pažnja, ispravak). Istjerali su je čim shvatiš, smije se, tja, gotovo je.

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(Rodoljublje)

Uzet ću sablju i u komad zraka upisati zvuk. To je neka melodija državnosti, u stazu ugrađen tuđi hod. To je neko jato s dušama iz regala. To je neki posao u basu, sivozelenkasti operetni duh.