Miroslava Odalovic Poems

The midnight toll in the clock
Maybe Sunday maybe never
I spit the pigeon onto my palm
A crying handprint
...

Oči vične čekanju u rascvaloj vodi
Uminuo privid u snazi talasa
Na dlanu mi sjever jutro mu hodi
Zvukom se u srcu praporac bjelasa
...

the cards pf chance
space mix time in a pack

look at the picaro furious
...

I appreciate your instant reply
I judge-it's not correct

For the thing shivering in my heart
...

Portmanteaux thoughts golden shots
Platform Zoo animal freaks
Golden cages of golden chicks
Promo prosti- insti- tuition
...

wasted
like paper wasted for the cells to whiten
sprinkling the soul onto the wall
permanently graphed tainted blood
...

Where's the palm of a hand
To warm the lines against the snowflakes
To draw this love into a touch
And spill my heart across the rivers
...

You cried to the waters
‘Why don't you finally drown? '
You sang to the moon
The white tunes of unhuman untainted
...

some people base their true story lines
on too many movies they have that have been seen
cliched scenarios most of the family friends etc.
feel comfortable with sympathetic with
...

the blue is anxious for love
the blue is hungry for colours
the blue's too thirty for earthly dry lips
listen to this midnight
...