Some moved to Mars and Moon and satellites
I used to visit them now and then.
Their tiny settlements of four to ten
Scattered among extraterrestrial sites.
We spent our dusky days and lengthy nights
Reciting Kamasutra and Quran,
Composing cakes with almond and pecan,
And making love on zero-g spaceflights.
The downtuned kind of paradise.
The cold and spacious prison of exile
With a permission for another day
Of skiing in the hills of methane ice.
The endless plains, forever infertile.
And tiny asteroids far away.
[read more]
Awaken by the knocking at the door,
I rushed to open it, I was so keen
To see someone who wasn't a machine
Supporting my life on this lump of ore.
I let the creature enter station's floor.
She was bipedal and her skin was green.
The first non-earthling I have ever seen.
She said "You are what we keep looking for.
Derelict vagrant lost at stellar sea.
You'll love our little group, I can suppose."
And hearing that I almost burst in tears.
It was relieving for my eyes to see
Another fleshy creature. That's because
[read more]
He was a clown, she was a clone,
He wasn't funny, she was alone.
She could carve magical runes on a bone,
He had two kittens and camera drone.
They met by chance in a train to Cologne.
Very first step of her trip to unknown,
He just had appointment he couldn't postpone.
He had no breakfast, she shared a scone
And they had chit-chat in a lowered tone.
No need to mention what's already known:
They have been raised in the same combat zone
Where sky is green and earth smells of ozone.
[read more]
I asked for solace,
They brought me sandwich
And it was flawless:
Salmon and butter.
Dark whiskey bar which
Hides me from Cutter
And his red-haired witch.
When I'll be sober
I'll stop to mutter
That I'm improper
My life's a clutter.
Once I did sales of
Tin, zinc and copper.
Always been clean shove,
Never been topper.
My flight got cancelled.
I wish I was dove
That child had penciled
And could fly above
The sea of routines.
And like young Hansel
Be eaten with beans.
[read more]
Inside my old pyjamas live
A lot of people, some of whom I know.
Few rebels, most just go with the flow.
Some cynics, some are still naive,
Some have elaborate beliefs.
Some play in bands, some teach, some know judo.
Most like the loopy side streets and fresh snow,
And stinky smoke of dried leaves.
Some courtly gentle, others bluntly mean,
Few vegans, but most fancy pie with lamb.
Rich, poor, thin, fat, young, old, and in between.
Some live on Mars and some in Amsterdam.
The people who I was, or could have been,
[read more]