Selahattin Yolgiden

we discuss with coffin carrier boys
if the angels are
male or not

the goat -in love with an orange treehas left its village long ago
in a bag out of its own skin

when the noon-bell tolls,
girls wash their cunts with salty water,
hang them out on a rope to dry and let them be kissed

the doctor holds an x-ray
there are two skeletons making love on it
“we forget we are only a set of bones”

we wash the cherries with the water drops
dribbling from your crotch, your body’s ebb and tide
on the bed, on that open sea, alas, a sail boat caught by a storm

once I had started everything that I finished
but I couldn’t finish many things that I have started:
yarn spinning, dreaming, making love…

I kissed your lips bestowed to me,
I finished the cherries on the plate.

broken glasses on a rocking chair
forgotten by an old man, snow-birds in the garden,
choked deers by the last days of the year

lies remained from your childhood
circling like snow flakes
around the dog trembling in the yard

they found the f string broken double bass
hanging down a tree by the lake,
its half open case was like a coffin aside

johan, who was crushed by a horse-tram,
got up from the autopsy table, holding his brain in his hands
and said “teach me how to stand still when I am dead”

three kids are examining a dead crow
by the sticks, by the river
everything becomes blue in the march cold

an owl swings on a branch as it bursts in a laughter
 

i know nothing. at night.
when evening falls i am a dog of sand
worshipping its own shadow.
as black as the difference between knowing and not knowing.
a rooster picking at the watch round cassandra’s neck.

stiff when drowned. purple when hanged.
dumps stuffed with discarded medicine boxes.
urine stinking hospital beds in blood.
panty liners chewed pacifiers used condoms
sado whips the clinking of glasses
some laughing at themselves some at others
all of humanity rotten.

hades is reading out my name. a dream.
i’m in primary school. chosen as class captain
for the fifth time. on the uniform my mother
washed by hand clots of blood.

i am a electric pylon in egnatia,
trembling whenever i talk be quiet.

at the market they sell fresh walnuts. croquant cakes,
potato pies and meatballs.
whatever you eat turns to the same thing inside. get it.
do not let anyone who looks at the face of a street dog
and does not weep into your life.

nails of the wind
a dead body growing longer
inside me, a clattery type writer
with a broken a

i gave up the god’s words up
i gave life to unclaimed shadows
and created a prophet who’ll write his own book

october is the month of the anxious ones
torn tickets, pale towels,
semen smelling bachelor pads, a giraffe
who hanged himself to the
dormitory door, dead public officers
and istanbul
someone is still dancing on a beach since july

from the spickandspan s
we can see you already forgot me.