четвер, 1 серпня 2013 р.

Julia Stakhivska




FRUIT GARDEN

Morning is the time of waiting for you
it is a taste of milky caramel on an empty stomach
it is the archers whose hands aresharp who stand near the fields of eyes
and outposts of nose
it is a small mulattos of the seed in daily apple
eat them - they're wholesome - they got some iodine
and the old fruit gardens 
still before the moment they got the common memory

i walk through this memory just like a walk thorugh the
tunnel just like i walk like a worm
and now i start to notice - how many tasteful faces there are
and no i start to notice - how many stoned like insects in the amber there are
and my amber is tight on my hand
and my amber is as tight as iodine layers of yellowfall for pedestrian
my grandpa says: do not wail and be quit
every morning the organism got the rehearsal

heart is percussion
liver is cello
lungs are brass

and we listen if there is something in their pit
and we laugh and grandpa says: it's applayse, eat'em

and archers are now vanish in the scottish dreams
with the minutes over the shoulder
they enter the nosegate of windrose
leaving the defensive sniffs on the threshold
and the tambourines with ripy apple skin




EXIT

How nice for you to be in soft coccons for explorations of the every foot of dream
How nice for you to laugh 'cause life - are icecream portions small
Icecream portions small are bead on almond spoons
and cold will never get the finnish knife in gateway
and cold will never show its metal ribs - the only flash there -

How nice for you to walk from porches at 2 o'clock, after midnight:
the two and the third one is son - still in hands and still too small and happy and sleepy
he looks at the sky confused and his gaze is vine
it rolls on the plates of the fathers faces without reply
only mothers hairadder has fallen
only fathers adam's apple twitched so keenly  just like pink




FAREWELL

I think when you part your ways you put the bay leaf under your tongue
and because of that - the kiss is bitter and some black just like the henbane
i love this fly - so good with her to die so dersperate to catch the evenings
prunes of shadows and to note what Carl Linne was right:
giraffe of our love extends his neck because she wants so 
and she got no need to tear the leaves from branches - 
the bay leaf now grows on the ground




TO LAY AND FALL ASLEEP TOGETHER. TO TALK

dream grows like a tree small: sucker from sucker
sprout to sprout
leaves are sticking to the shutter
and in the warm lampshade just like in the halcyons nest
still lays the nestling of the light
even if theres no rush - there will be reed of silence
even if theres no barren flowers - there will be pillow feathers
even if willow grows wrong - the dream will widen
the gloom buries itself and leaves the mellow molehills on the ground 
it is and it's breathin' little.


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