my after summer close-ups

..i have a stone taken from the sea, memories of a sunset and a warm wind over the pine tree forest. I have a vivid picture of an ant crawling into the crack of the read soil where i walk and where little olive trees face the waves. I have here, with all the memories until now and i have a mind that is playing its own game with all of them. There is a sense of a contradictory density, like when you float in the sea with your ears in the water hearing the density and feeling the lightness..my memories are those sounds and i am searching for the silence.

bones

Through my bone, where i am constantly emerging

through the same one that will be left behind, a silent witness, an evidence of my existence..

Through my bone that captures all the softness of my blood

and resists the pressure of all storms..

Through my house that joins the life and death..

Through that i reach towards you

hoping that i am navigating right.

on boundaries...order and safety..

Listening to different journeys of the speech, which words are taking space and which sit still, in silence, providing a navigation, potential danger, points to move away from, i am thinking how all this reflects the layers of who we are, or were, or wish to be... Sitting here i wonder if the next word that i will choose has already chosen me. Which of all the words that exist are those that are specific for me? Hm...How do they outline my borders..would i be in another shape if i would be chosen by other words or would choose differently? Are words dead and objectified..or can they be the same as seeing someone crying, bleeding, breathing...are they the juice of one's body as well? Can words be hands and hands be words? Probably if we would not lack anything, language would never develop...no desires, no words. Like a mental skin, my words shape a relief in the nearness of who i am, or think i am, or desire to be... But inside...on the inner layer, the pulse of survival is editing to protect the most fragile...editing to keep order, to reveal only fragments, perhaps only the surface of the volume mostly unknown... The words i have chosen, have chosen me..and me and them know it was the safest choice, the one respecting order, even if in a poetic way...but still order, boundaries of my breath...breath to dare until here.

fragments...

"iz sanj"

Lasje lepijo se nanjo. Bori se skozi sanje, bljuva pike in lovi obraze. Tlaci si jih v usta, da ne bi ostala sama.

Golta, ceprav pekoci strup razliva se po stenah njenih zil.

Se kratek cas bo ziva v sanjah, ko zbudi se, z las visi ji kri.

"sama"

Biti en v eni sami noci. Dan je mimo in vse kar je ostalo si le ti.

Samemu sebi.

Tisina na koncu stavka, ki ga ni nihce prekinil.

Koza mi spolzela bo z telesa, ker nihce ne rabi njenega dotika.

Slecena, obnemim, v sobi. Kri se zlije z vodo in ceprav doma, se izgubim. Tisina odbija se mi ob usesa, zalepljena od lastne vdaje. Nicesar ni za kar se je potrebno vstati, biti...Teza lastna je se le odmev.

Kako ljubiti nic, ki v nic se zliva...?

"inverzija"

Vsa svetloba jutra vpita je v kozi vsakega od nas.

Zbledi.

Ko temna voda razlije se po hrbtenici.

Vretenca pokajo.

Okoli nic, le spomini, ki bezijo pred pretecimi kriki. Ko zvezde zrcalijo se samo se v mlaki.

Takrat je konec, jutra parajo vse sive maternice, ki rojeva zlo. Koza susi se, sokovi tecejo v obratno smer.

Inverzija v popolnosti, telo pozre, kar svet ustvaril je.