Prosaic excerpt of the Sunday: The Train and The Deviant Allegories

The Train and The Deviant Allegories

Tired, sticky bodies. Yes bodies. Not people. This city has eaten all their humanity. They're judgemental. Everything about you is wrong. Especially the way you breathe. Three little piggies sitting in front of me, watching me falling. Whose house will I blow away first piggies? My fingers are long enough to do it with one hand. But I'm just cowardly typing and killing you on this little pixelated page. Ohmygod! Who’s that filthy smelly piggy? Is it you in the middle? I see you’re not even trying to hide the rest of your dinner that has stacked in that silly plump mouth of yours. Silly piggy. Look there is a black goose playing around. He has taken piggy’s place and he’s an arrogant stupid goose. You’re going to be cat food goose, - says one of piggies. But goose doesn't reply, he doesn't speak piggies’ language. Hello piggies! I got a place! Pretending here to be one of you. What does it look like? I bet you'd be happy to be skinned alive only to avoid seeing me sitting. Silly piggies. Even goose has checked me out, piggies. Silly you, goose. I'm going soon, piggies. But piggies do not understand me, they’re only underestimating me. But hey, my autograph is on all your bums. And it’s sundown. And it’s time for me to go.

I slap piggies’ bums and they are squeaking and hurrying towards the barn.

Another Day Poetry: Budapest

Budapest

For a moment forget where I am,

And there is no difference at all.

No adventures and joy with myself,

If I'm bored then it’s only my fault.

One, I'm unfocused,

Two, I'm still writing,

But my feet are too hurt,

They’re too sore to keep fighting.

Are we getting old?

Is it happening now? No?

Then why I'm so tired, why I'm feeling so down?

Why’s my constant ‘upsetness’ overwhelming it all?

No matter where or what’s going on.

These days are too fast,

Too little kebabs,

But time is a train between future and past.

Sightseeing, and wander, and maybe that mall,

With my slow digestion there is no time at all.

My new complains and old habits supplies,

You, my dear, only the one doomed to try,

Even the last day my whining keeps going

What can I say? Well, I could say sorry.

You. Right in front of me,

I. Am crawling to bed,

It’s our holiday baby –

With disappointment you said.

(This time it's personal)