organs that match and replicate

loudly rewind minutes

your loving, repeating, the beginnings

the laughing prince of alternatives

massacring the bloody present

the natives who are naked truth, gaping

bayonets of rejections and ejaculations

mouths open wide, eyes chewing

dew time licked

rinse and repeat all the relationships in

mind everything as old as new

it is now and never

memories, the replicants

the memories of loved labor love

rebirth in the first glance, fairy tales

whoever whirls you

whoever is to turn back time is a skinner

a bit deeper, there, a serial lover

death’s bane

nothing regrets the flesh as flesh

curses spirit drinks 

who is meant to re-live is the seed

immortality passed

crush the organs face to face

there is no time, skinned

Image: Odd Nerdrum

the way I claw back to your orbit is a sign

of a disease, blood trails, nail bites

the mind always germinates a hoax

to kill the germs

a return call to

the ideas that shake reality

a reverse mirror image

the wish to cling to immortality

by eating faces figuratively

human making is a kind of dissection

a die-section where dies are cast

the self and eye-ball, balls out

beauty is beyond the eye of the beholder

who holds the means to capitalistic endeavors

money sugar coats and licks surfaces glittering for

who can surgically reshape the face

who can reshape the past

all is based on and stems from a smile

a single smile that initiated rolling

of cigars and cells and sex

whoever catches the secret of the smile

breaks the screen

addicted and revolving, the pain is a wake-up call, call if you can face it all  

Image: Lorenzo Mattoti

you brought the dead fish we’ve been looking for

but it feels like there is more

a utopia featured by Jesus strolling on water

treading lost desire

but the muddy liquid is transparent, almost transgender

a cogent gathering of four is ex-sex

the moor and the moral superiority are lost in the swamps

with the swaps of perspective

where the “I” becomes many untouched and yearning eyes

and eyes are people

the medieval costumes are a ruse to tempt you ample

the urges that erode under god’s gaze

the muezzin is calling us to something

alienation is the material fact fest phase

the same, the totality

that recur as sacrifice

the sardonic mackerel face does not bite

I’m the sea

who sees nothing

and wets himself among women

Image: Alessandro Sicioldr

hiçlik döndükçe

aklında

sakin kalmanı beklemiyorum

dünya bana dönmeni

sakin kalarak olduğun yerde

dünyayla dönmeni

hiçliğin yerine

saklandıkça dünya

sen sakin kalmadıkça

beklemiyor dünya

dönmek saklıyken

hiçliğe

aklımda

sakin sakin dönemiyoruz

sensiz

dünyam

hiç mi hiç

dönmüyor sen benden saklandıkça

the concubine and the bard

when dead inside, with patience, ink bleeds lifelong

scrolling screens, lifeless wits

borrowed time, open palms, regret fits

trails of words of wisdom wounding

whose source is sorcery

spelling is casting spells, palm reading

for writing is a dead man’s art

the long smeared remedy

where everything bleeds but a heart

nothing gets wet

white sheets, black eneuch dots

the impersonation fallacy of following great lives

you ain’t one, the one

along life cosplaying a long life, numb but alive

the epitaphs, a winding road in an old Ottoman cemetery

for the sultans that never ruled  

in the harems of our hearts

with patience, resurrect the dead inside

Image: Shalva Kikodze

böceğin sırtından güzel bir yüz yaptım sana

karanlığı paylaşırken tutuşalım diye turuncuya

başımız, antenlerimiz henüz dikken

pireler berber, develer tellal iken

kapılabilirken feromonların kokusuna

tüylerimiz aşk aygıtlarımız diken diken

dünya üzerimize kırmızı bir Pazartesi gibi kapanmadan

dokunabilecek ovalarımız, vadilerimiz

kıyafetlerimiz, desenlerimiz biziz

kayan gözlerimiz

hala nehirlere ve nehirler denizlere varırken

diri diri biziz

kuzguna yem olmadan yüreklerimiz

memleketin kanıyla renklenen

sırtlarımız toprağa değmeden

oğullar kovuklarımızda kızları katletmeden

öpüştükçe

bir boynun ulaştığı her zihne

incileri çıkaran eller kurumadan

tacımız yamuk yumuk ancak bir insan

yaratsak da insan gibi yaşatamadığımız

böcek bacakların aklını kaçırmaya yakın

gel bize gene

iyiymişiz gibi süslenip poz verelim