Suboptimal Landscapes

A lyrical pile of pigeon crap

by

Jakub Simek

that is so 2013

Dedicated

Time is just a footnote to a place called home

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poems of yesterday

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1.

Myself, my biggest frenemyFrenzy of restless thoughtseither too drunk to rememberor too sober for quiet nights

BalconyMy best friendconnecting kitchen with Godcountless lights cannot beat the darkness

VictoryDoesn’t look like thisyou need a credit top-up to make a calllife doesn’t have a post-paid plan

FelonyCommitted by sins of omissiona smile can be the most serious thing

RemedyA slow breath seems to take foreverexhaling all the silly attempts at happiness

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2.The outburst of pathetic lovelike poison, like the stupidtobacco every other hoursuffocating me tenderlywith a twistwith a twisted beautythe closer I am the further I amProject Sisyphusit still makes senseas only what we are losingwe really ownlike sense and sensesmeans and fencesmarriages and mortgages

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3.Half the sky

Ok, I get itI got fooled by Tagore sayingthe sky is too small for othersthan the two loverswho only for a couple of hourswere made immortal

Like I need to invent a whole new languageto talk to you between the linesor finally shut upand remain silen_

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4.I am a dam of dumbnessa flood of dirty watersa visual recognition softwareI see a silhouette of someonewho looks like youand my CCTV goes from black and whiteto full HD

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poems of tomorrow

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1.A being, the present continuousthe flipside of realitythe outrooted rotten hollow woodconstant fireyou have to blinkotherwise tears will flowthanks God for themDoes the world exist when I have my eyes closed?Hold it!I’m scared to let the precious moment slip

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2.Snoozing the inner alarmfree fallingdeep diving and climbingup againpathetic, ha?black tea with milk, one sugardevil on my leftthe periphery of attentiona ticklish subject lostdistant peace washed away at the sea shorered lights alertemptied minibar in my headswimming in the lucid poolin diver’s suit and a full gearescaping the chlorine pristinitylooking for a sunk yellow duck

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3.Dreams, the most preciousdistilled reality you ownthat will happen onceor notnot todaywho cares?in 412 weeksOr not

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4.Racing on the treadmill of affectionyou can press the pausetake a sip of that expensive Spanish bottled waterand change the machinefor betteror worseor don’t pausejust run on the same spottowards the unreachable screen of deathwhile Original Don is playing

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5.Imagine!all the people, imaginein Lyonsitting at the fountaintense, unable to movelooking for a reason and couragethere must be some dream to fight forlike to make some girl happy one dayno Range Rovers and beachfront houses

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anything

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1.The policy of poetrywords lose meaning upon utteringlike the smell of burning rubbercompletely naturalI can’t stand the distant proximitythe encompassing chokeyeah, sure, chemistrythe opposite of problems is deathgreen tea, no alcohol, no electricitycandle on a Fisherman’s Friend boxwriting because I like the sound of paper

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2.Anything goesbut I don’t know wherethe vibrations of sighthe borders where tears stopand have to returndenied visas for the lack of opennessthere is a place for improvementjudgement call busy

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3.Anywhere we go you leave a stampyour words and smiles stay putfilling the void of every little streetemotional geographycornered between friction nad fictionI chose the latterlittering my selfish existencewith pearls of your uncanny rawness

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poems of never

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1.Storm in a Cup

A summer before the last summeron a bus I thoughthow below a perfect stormthere must be these ugly deep sea fish with lanternsin dark cold constant waters

Now, basking in the sunlight of the calm oceanI think about these ugly beasts againbut these stale waters are too shallowfor life aquatic

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2. Sudden Eden

creative unshacklingthe old me was fond of youI dumped itthis deep pathetic fartshook a distant universebut not our open spaceunbecoming graceshameless, fresh, childishkimchi, pickled radishselfish fetish mistakenfalse, unfair coldly calculatedarticulated but unspokenspeechless

expressive single-minded vanity

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3. Suboptimal Landscapes

grasping for despair, climbing over airdinning with debt collectors and prostitutesreading them fairy talesabout brave malesturning the other butt cheekresting my tested mindno peace in my veinsI want to feel cold heartless strengthfree of dreams scattered on thousand plateauswords instead of picturesgaps instead of wordsbeeps, likes, updatesit is a small world

traded at a high frequency

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