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SPERMMEN

I cannot, cannot even swallow

Meshed-egg puree

curds

or anchovy spread

—whatever it is as soon as I set my eyes on it it turns into detail studies of your excrements, 

over which you excite yourselves DOWN THERE, in his lascivious blooming valley 

Oh, and my favourite

fat black olives … why must they so unscrupulously remind me of the shiny helmet of your organ?

I cannot, cannot even wonder out, among the flora

Irises stick their hairy, vulgarly colourful tongues out at me

Every bud burgeoning around offends me with its shamelessly open promise of wet entrails

– a finger pushed inside amidst the squashed petals

gets at once wet all the way to the quick,

                                                              thumbed in juices

And when they start breaking out!

                                                    THE BUDS

and stretching!

getting fatter

and larger… no, I can’t stand it!

I am even irritated by the diligent shaggy wagging of bees

—they make me sick!

                  workers impudently rubbing against workers, drones swarm together with drones…

When walking along the embankment I must avert my eyes:

the male swans are sleazily showing off here

—entwining their long necks

                                               regardless of how awkward  their shape-less feet are

But the worst

the worst are flamingos!

Every animal or plant is just a spellbound spermman 

– the omnipresent parable of the Sperm in its copious spermutations;

fast scraping at the right place in the protective veneer

and!

gushing through the tear comes the opalescent semen

I cannot help myself I must think about it

I keep thinking about how you two do it

Whether it’s the oozing irises, mating snails, caterwauling cats or shining-arsed baboons

I DON'T WANT and yet again and again find your reflection in nature’s hankering and salivating gorge 

in whose suggestive embrace

you’re doing IT

YOU  – ARE – DOING - IT - TO - HIM

with the same instrument as he uses on you

It’s slippery down where you are

                                                  nested among the villi of your bed 

                                                  girdled with the dripping sheet

You are sighing, the two of you,

with lust you are in fact snorting into your hairy ears

You are rubbing your butt cheeks

indulging in your bodies 

all randy you search for new territories

and while catching your breath

—when it’s over—

you run the tip of your tongues

along the slim silhouette of the protruding Adam’s apple 

…intimacy that was until not long ago, at least for one of them,

                                                                           permitted solely to me, your wife 

. . .

DIFFERENT SMELLS OF HER CONQUERORS

Getting chubby

In front of my pupils she is

Getting chubby—I won't let her go

With my elbows I am stuffing her bosom back

My daughter is getting chubby

and everyone can see it

One day she will come home

and I won't be able to but turn my nose

so that I would not drop dead                

hit by the smell of the Conqueror

For several stiff mornings

even her shadow will be dealt a hand of

AVERSION! BORN OUT OF MY OWN RIB! MY

chubby daughter

In how many smells will she drill me? 

. . .

LET US FLY, LOVELY

Let's fly over the billowing times

just you and me

                              (and all the other beloved... just all

                              not more)

Tilt our necks backwards

and scoop up the swishing air

– oh let's –

experience the weight lifting 

starting at the toes

to rise high as up ever gets

Let's choose the airline of our dreams

– lovely –

the one with a swan pitched across a blue logo

the one of the most enamoured slogan

– oh –

...choose

...and fly

let us...

...forget

let us... 

. . .

AN EXECUTIONER OF ENTROPY

An old man walks in the garden

and stabs with his stick

all the garbage from trees

                                                    machines

                                                                     and people

The old man will stab ANYTHING

that represents

DECOMPOSTITION

The old man thinks only slowly

pulls up his chequered trunks

gradually coming to realise

that the next turn is

his own 

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