Deformed Mime Poem by Dragan Radovancevic

Through the creaking of a gramophone record
Horowitz is, knowingly frowning, trying
to differentiate the song.

Every concept in human has its own cancer
its own blindness and its right arm.

And that motion in me
will leave a trace that I am going to follow
even when I forget that which had left it.

Having thus transcended my own self
I have managed to keep the trap away for a little while.
For I address
the swallows of reason,
that threaten with their own possibilities,
and only an attentive adherence to genealogy
will result in a sort of a durability.

We have learned how to admire the radiation
and how to look for a relief in a punishment.
We watch the human skeletons as though they were
sketches of some future beings
- and those were lessons taught by common sense.

An outbreath is a hylotheistic mosquito
that sucks indications
from our blood.

The lived world has not been preserved yet
(neither in our body, nor in our consciousness)
for the organ of anxiety is getting older
and encourages its departure.

And the burned gifts, their ashes,
protect themselves,
by buidling a new reality,
and by causing nostalgia all over again.

Its own face is awaiting each and every worm.