ironic poem – hidden pilcrow

Surrogates

Published on 25/07/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

One never sleeps with a corpse, maybe except for one’s own spouse
after twenty years of trite upheavals in the castle. But what got me there,
one might ask? That always-at-hand cliché of the great loves of my life,
I suppose: Audrey Hepburn, Marcello Mastroianni, Max Schreck—all
as dead as the celluloid that keeps them alive. At least I can still be a little
adventurous from time to time, although each film marathon eventually
becomes nothing more than an inconvenience. Probably like everything
else in life after a while. Perhaps that is why humanity’s greatest torment
is, in fact, boredom. No wonder that one has recently switched to voice
couching. Coital vocalisations are the latest challenge. Maybe unethical,
but how fulfilling! At least for now.

sculpture of a human head and a hand in a thoughtful pose made of letters against the background of the alphabet

The law of parsimony

Published on 23/07/202323/07/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

Not that I am being overly parsimonious,
but is not our alphabet somewhat extravagant?
Why not emulate the Rotokas’ twelve letters?
I am sure they can still construct the whole
of human knowledge out of them.

surreal scene with two figures, one with a bird's head and a glass of wine, the other wrapped in a plaid sitting on an elegant armchair

From observations on the recovery of a fallen snob

Published on 13/07/202316/07/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

Any self-respecting hostage of life, slowly forgetting human words,
would stick to reflexes: dinner, long-dead Yeats, masturbation, sleep,
and so on and so forth, for if the French are to be believed, l’appétit
vient en mangeant.

The perfect lovers

Published on 09/07/202316/07/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

This has always been going to be a beautiful day.
After all, it gets off to a good start as we wake up
early in the morning with a cheerful disposition,
and despite your obsessing over the pumpkin seeds
I forgot to buy, breakfast is deliciously nutritious.

An uneventful day at work is nice for a change, too.
Then a quick visit to the grocery store to grab dinner.

In the evening, I close the curtains to become a hero
of all the scenes of a sexual nature enacted barefoot
on the odd pages of a yearbook I found in the attic
on the sofa you once exiled from the living room,
although oddly enough, I seem to have some difficulty
finding your pictures there. Fortunately, there is always
a mirror that we bought for our last birthday.