Peycho Kanev
Winter Melt Issue 2009
as the rats dance mazurka
1.
and I listen to the radio
and open this bottle right here-
and as the rats yawn in the night
I remain silent
and as the ants climb on my feet
I breathe slowly like them
and as the roaches fuck in the corners
I watch them
and as the drunkards scream in the street
I spit through the window
and as the painter draws gently
I imagine his wife again
and as I remember my mother
I cry
but as the night continues slowly
I am here
2.
sometimes there is not abstraction
there is nothing at all
I listen to the news on the radio
and two little girls from the South
raped and murdered
and the rats dance mazurka
and I die slowly
and I am dead
and alive
more then them.
something in flowerpot
the night is coming slowly like old
gray cat and I am
looking for matches
the hunger of the mind
insists, carry on and don't feel sorry
for the missed words
the night knows how much to fill my glass
and after that to stand up and
to pour water from the kettle
on the thing in the flowerpot
the night is dying of thirst like
wheat in August
the streets are gloomy and silent
welcoming my steps upon the faceless
sidewalk, reminding me your silence
during the times of our war
the world turns slowly like a cripple
going nowhere with all the things upon it
and the silence the silence yes,
just for a while
while the audience applauds within
my bones
I could continue to paint but I will leave this
to the old dead dogs barking in my back yard
between the roses and the stones
the night bends down over the flowerpot
and she says:
you are quiet
ah, you are so silent
my eyes believe in everything
and the honorable ladies sleep with
the picture of Paul Newman
waiting for their eternal repose
the water is pouring upon the green thing
just like the wind parts the curtains in the sky.
Peycho Kanev is 28 years old. He loves to listen to sad music while he drinks slowly his beer. His work has been published in Word Riot, Gloom Cupboard, Poetry Cemetery, Nerve Cowboy, The Chiron Review, The Guild of Outsider Writers, Spoken War, Side of Grits and many others. He loves to put the word down and not talk on the cell phone for days. He is nominated for Pushcart Award. He lives in Chicago. Alone. |
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