a Room without Walls


Steven Duplij
    Four Works

Steven Duplij



      Being tortured with lie,
      I was alive with you -
      Its superlayer
      Between us
      Consumed the cut
      To the impossible.
      The couch has been built -
      Then I break into yelling to myself
      And go to my crypt-dungeon.
      Why, I see that my moan
      Isn't needed here -
      I'll disperse my haughtiness
      On the faces of words.
      The crowd made me sick -
      I'm standing up straight
      In front of the worst
      I'll reject the flattery
      Which is the tsarina of dreams.
      I am tired
      To the exhaustion
      By the poverty of sounds.
      Where do I find
      The pledge of years?
      The passionate and silly,
      Alien lips of love
      Cannot be torn away
      From the dead blisses.
      The footprint
      Of the naiveness -
      Rib crunch - is over -
      The gibberish
      Has mounted the moment.
      There is a row
      Of the Dream-like gravestones -
      The light gapes

      The creeping evening - I am tired of years,
      Shift moan-gaze from the wallpaper to the wreath
      Of blisses lost. My dream decayed as nucleus
      Primordial from futile rows of mine.
      There's no events - I carry the temptations
      To their grave: my soul - sobs violently and hands - in blood.
      I leaf through Night. And her miasmas
      Stole into my inside to rot the shame of strivings dead.
      Being fatted with success, Naiveness slept,
      Breaking prognoses with the memory of wasted days:
      The Fly has stiffen on the highest point, laughing
      At pseudomeaning of the formers to fall down painful more.
      Our time
      Is quantized
      By our songs,
      Our perishableness
      Is revolted
      By our welcomes -
      Vomiting with primordiality, dreams
      Are overflowed with the soul fanatical cruelties.
      The delights
      Are slipping away
      After shadows,
      Which are sticking
      The quanta of time
      Into Nothing.
      The yelling Pain is germinating between offences -
      We only ne ed each other till death
      The indifference -
      To the justified
      Superperson -
      On the wall
      Of the supermind.
      The interminableness of the vanishing blisses -
      We are getting the Debts for the debts.
      The perversion -
      To the worn out
      Lying feelings,
      The revival -
      To the naivenesses
      Which are scattered
      On the mad waste of the heart-rending Words -
      They are alive with me, no matter how much you will burn me.
Works in this Room copyright © 2001 by Steven Duplij


Copyright © 1995-2001 Ted Warnell. All Rights Reserved