Miloš Đurđević Poems

second week of insomnia, from the fifth toward third hour a rattle in
the walls (plumbing?) follows automobile boxes for a short while (in
waves? does it bounce back, absorb? will it squeak? on which side?)
...

'I'm sure somebody is speaking against me at this moment.'

Josef K.



southern winds upon the town, the sky resembling unwashed windows
looking towards nothing - spit on the tongue, fingers in his ears
...

and the white-gray light of day seeps through again, scattered in
empty capsules it oscillates and ticks; pale rays of the false sun linger
on, as if hanging in the air, not reaching anything bringing nothing,
...

thin, pallid cover wrapped around bare tree branches in this part of
town, over there it seems night is not over, here we are looking at the
...

from early morning silence is everywhere, with the second step we are
knee deep in water, the river without estuary springs out beneath us,
climbs up and is already frozen, it is impossible to touch that icy crust,
...

and then it withdraws suddenly, two days of fierce vertigo, the loss of
basic orientation, shiftlessness and confusion like at the end of the
tunnel that suddenly ends: that side road you have somehow been sure
...

earth exhausts air fitfully now, flashes, slow, slowly, fettered tongue,
shadows are too deep, cold, if there are any, thin line at the bottom of
the tree trunk, of the wall: you can not hold that difference in your
...

enormous is the craving (for what?) in that emptiness, screens are
twisting in (are they coming closer? coming apart?), thinning and
suddenly disappearing into each other, behind each other, in front of
...

'I know that sound! Somebody has just died!' - 'No, it is only a
grasshopper jumping on the bed.' but you can't recollect any sounds,
certainly not those (which ones?) that could have any attribute, an
addition to pull them out, bring them out; hospital was improvised in
...

small paper bag filled with tiny white shells gathered at the cemetery
near Edam, a town a few kilometers from a fisherman's village; the
cemetery lies at the fill dam, a hill ten meters high, heavy gravestones
made from shale and granite, paths leading between neat plots
...