It is easy to wear a mask made of the vomit of the sun
walking the streets of a timid town in search of
the perfect background for every sacred word
cumbersome in the eye of a bird or a beast.
Canine laughter might be served as a breakfast
for nauseous music you are too afraid to hear.
Slumber Bigger Than Life
36 days ago I couldn’t
touch the claws of the clouds
and the scratches made by flowers
on somnolent walls. Consider the reptiles:
Under the snow they smell, smile, simulate
happiness of the eyeless sky.
Shadows and mice invade the parks
and the mirrors of the towns cursed by the roar
of butterflies between the seasons.
Hibernating leaves are ashamed of revealing the future.
A story of blabbering flowerless vases
has been buried in oblivious ice.
I am serious as a vacuum cleaner:
Words are the duds of mute angels
that loathe doing the laundry.
Ivan Peledov lives in Colorado. He loves to travel and to forget the places he has visited. He has been recently published in Goat’s Milk Magazine, The Collidescope, iō Literary Journal, and Wend Poetry.
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