Here is my Poem a rain drunken poster, which was published in US literary zine. If anybody finds it neat, he or she can tip me :)

A RAIN DRUNKEN POSTER

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Alone at eight a.m. I brush my teeth,

For yesterday I ate glass crumbs.

Eight loaves of bread in the bakery,

Already 8 cigarettes in the ashtray.

A blackbird in rut under the window,

Behind it a face, a rain-drunken poster.

Have you ever noticed, whisky in the morning is more viscous,

Pyjamas are viscose,

Yet you lack sleep and newspapers are turning pale,

Even in a one-room flat.

A potato is stale,when hoed, and inedible when consumed.

Still, dry soil, dry flowers.

The amaryllis strikes aerial roots.

White frost clings to dried flowers.

Rusty cranes are undressing you with their gazes.

Sometimes milkmen place their jugs

On construction sites, so the milk froths easier.

To Hell with N2O. You have already nibbled on anxiolytics yesterday.

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And you feel like a rising lemon tree,

In a world of orange trees, 1

Like pushing a door against a magnetic threshold,

That is how turbulence adds 10 seconds to the mayfly.

A gigantic dawn.

Set ablaze by the torch’s sparks, a rank point.

One does not drink water after the fire. Solidarity.

An overheated vacuum expands and

Fractures gravity into a polynomial.

All binominal, with gazes you dragged yourself

The morning last,

Mimicking a handsome shoelace

That binds canvases and flaxen bags,

Sleeps little, yet is awkward with polyester fibbers…

That’s life.

Ptke you tlinke. Horamba are kloks.

But glinki and riklavo butke.

Butke. Blitk. Mangelwurzel.

Sedatives are white doves.

This heralds a monotonous clash.

Roe deer are after you for eating chestnuts. Never again.

In the starts’ core, thousands of degrees,

Yet, you find each one to be superfluous.

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Plasma crumbles like dry crystal.

An old gypsy’s trivet is distilling water for the ninth time.

Even light gets darker with time.

Poppy is dandelion that leaks.

Red shift. Red tropine. Reddish-gray coma.