Ever since I was woken up by weapons
Ideological balloons shooting at me.
Scared by an advertisement dream
I am hiding in reality
Which is beating me with a bloody rod!
To shoot or not to shoot – to count dollars
Or not to count – it is no longer a question!
What remains is shoot and count.
I got stunned by an armed god
And cash drugs – nothing is reliable any longer
except sleeping outside the vault.
I am only left with an interior of lilac to drink.
In the empty rifle I inscribed confused notions
Of all people!
It remains for me to be one of the trillion offices
Of the multinational companies…
What remains is to open fire from the rifle into
A rabbit that is resting flat in a temple…
To shoot for real at the Bosnian pearl,
That is shining too clear…
To shoot for real with silence,
As criminals shoot with lies?!
To shoot at the heavenly bride?
To make her a slut or to stay thirsty?
To live? Not to live?
To sleep? To go to work early?
Ever since I woke up
The crunch is shooting at me!
Everything is clear to me – it has been forever too late.
I was touched by the voice of a firefly:
You have blazed yourself!
~ This site keeps going through the kind support of people like you.