Miroslava Odalovic Poems

When you turn the other page of a cheek
A slap of morn written abyss down your neck
A glove that you lift right from the floor
To throw it into the face of the tree swallowers
...

This is not my face
This thing oozing out of your insipid reflection theories
When you're putting it into A is A A is B B is C
...

does this word mean i can no longer sing
does this word mean i can no longer think
does this word mean we'll turn to no thing
does this word mean all the ships will sink
...

At sunset when cities dive
into the wells made silent by faces
there begins the creation of the world
...

Whatever one is drawned in is the place to learn to swim
Whatever path one takes it is the path to find a road
Whatever one asks for it the thing one cries for
Whatever one dies in is the place one cries in
...

With the first of Fridays
I'll leave the story aside
The story which summnons the days
Under the edges of the sky
...

There's a tremendous music composed of the ground
An earthquake master can creep in to hear
Oh he's been silent so long so long
Oh he's been bewitched in many a sound
...

The master of great will
A demiurg crash against time
He creates pictures space depends upon
A possibility of plenitude in each of their details
...

All the things that brought us home
We took them for awhile
Gently to the heart
Gently to the breast
...

a being sentences to be a measure of a universe
is a marginal artist always on the edge
of a 'neath-beyond-abyss
...