Christos R. Tsiailis

Three months in the clinic, one should be ready. I look down on you, one more escapade, to go down on you, and sharpen the blade.
[I did not know my nails would have grown so strong].
I grab you -both hands- to feel the skin and fatty, pillow-like juice. I shake you and I pull you out -you nasty rubber- you pull back in. How much bigger can you get? I inhale too deeply for my strength -anymore- and push the air to swell you, happy moments for my kids, indeed. Magnificent, so many years’ confusion. I do not know how the struggles have gotten me here, the struggles of too little food, or the struggles of too many a food.
The fool inside you, is he still there? Memory of a lifetime gulping, shame, retreat. I soothe the grabbing, squeeze a strange spot in a wrinkle and cuddle the umbilical cord.
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Another area, along, above, across
asphyxiating alluvium around an aviating alcove.
Alertness, avowed archers arriving.
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you are welcome to preview my book
'Throwing Dice on a Chessboard' at
http: //www.authorhouse.co.uk/Bookstore/ItemDetail.aspx? bookid=65801
(copy the link onto your address bar)
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I have always wanted to murder you irredeemably with
velvet poisonous plums and some
ash on the tip of a spoon to
nourish your peeing hole
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It
all
starts
on
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The sorrow, all that’s been lost, the gone.
What about perdition, absence,
the killed, the unborn?
The racism, hunger or malnutrition,
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A soul gang’d been travelling without worlds, outside Cosmos.
Drawn to fire, they penetrated the core of every moving planet
Yet, when they tasted here and a million-year-old now
They feared that they were brought to live,
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Are you standing there with your Doberman pinscher, or is it your shadow?
Look at this back, it is not what a woman’d look like.
Spring, Autumn, the begotten reasons of my respiration,
Sweat, woman odour, hairy armpits, I am already forgotten.
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A third grade student used to sit at the back desk, alone. As a middle level student all his tests had always been below 16 out of 20. He never hung out with any of the students in his class, regardless their level; the weak students being a bad influence; the exceptional ones making him look worse a student than he thought he really was. Unfortunately for him, no other student in his class was medium level!

One day he asked the teacher if he could sit at a desk nearer the board, distance being the reason he usually failed to participate. His teacher discussed it with the other students, but they all denied exchanging seats with him. Then all in the room except him started talking to each other making noise and laughing. That night insomnia kept him company. The next day, dead tired, he came up with a different excuse: that he couldn’t hear everything she taught, so he preferred to sit further to the front. Her answer was that she would try to speak louder from then on. He did not expect that. Sweat ran over his face and his shoulders. That second night he had terrible nightmares. On the third day he came up with a new idea on how to make it to a desk to the front line. But this time he spoke to his teacher during break, making sure nobody would hear: “Miss, it is hard for me, but I have to say it: in all the tests I see many of my classmates cheating; looking in other students’ tests, or taking very small pieces of paper out of their sleeves; I even saw Herman to whom you usually give 20s, using his mobile to text to who knows whom! ” His teacher, puzzled, just uttered “thanks” and she rushed down the stairs. He looked at her in relief and content. That night he had a wonderful dream of himself on the front desk holding a dozen tests marked 20 out of 20, and his fellow students crying with their tests in flames.
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