"Pulsar"

The wanderer picked up stones,
precisely weighed his personal dose
& hung them by his earlobes
inhaling lotus, gazing at the sideboard in his well-aged room
with different eyes he painted
traces of his finger on a slowed down kettle
he got up, brewing tea after tea
day after day looking out for distressing symptoms
heralding bop disease
in a syringe thinned out mirror he was looking for monsters
which he earlier unleashed
thoughtlessly, they criminally ran
following traces of their yesterday’s feet
& disembodied limbs of trees hung in the sun
his kettle raving
demanding gulps of warrior blood, who so brazenly
stared at the scene from under pale unconquered
mountain tops satori
higher than the stench
of woody infantile hands ever reached
or lovers, spotted idyllic, locked in a bomb shot
to dawn – to the mad monks
& such an orgasm
chrome-covered familiar sun
& roofed the trees with distaste

No one predicted the scale of events
& couldn’t present on his canvas at least one step
of the wanderer, who now planted comfortably on the sofa
absorbed music sheets, scored over with years
of pleasure, the entire past ceased to exist, in a moment, same
in which we started keeping diaries
to write poems as foolish as this
& sketch increasingly
balding skulls
of rhythm instigators
muffled with their women's scarves

I think I sat with them in one box, drank vodka with the devil
when my dancer changed partners, they all were unhealthily
glancing me, giggling in mind when I coughed
in the intervals, between successive Marlboros
maybe you'll get me faster, but if I keep my norm
of incineration, I foresee I won’t be with you
in a year, or so, & then I’ll giggle from above the clouds, you’ll admit:
we knew a wanderer, who was alien to human tongue

The wanderer was broadcasting via immortal pirate radio
same blunt lyrics, comments on a rigid life
& cough, coffee grounds, dilemmas
he glimpsed from his deck of cards
at his personal, indefinite
& with human thought impregnable
cherry pulsar with a delicate hint of sundown