Temporarily at a loss for words, I occupy the space
somewhere between a triangular circle and a winged lion,
weary of constantly mulling over salient interrogations,
like, ‘Can you get rid of eczema in two months
when you’ve been cultivating it for over forty years?’
(Of course you can’t; you even botched your divorce,
and you’d only spent half that time with your ex).
Is that why I like peeping
at magpies?
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I’ve seen Roundhay Garden Scene
and the trailers that followed.
Now I have settled on observing the restless
natives humming follies
to the tune of Que Será, Será
at the bend of the L-shaped room
where they cook, fuck and study—me, the humble,
squeaking floor panel.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I lost sight of my neighbours
as their nest drowned in the linden leaves—
which is nothing unexpected with spring in full swing—
so for now I have to find some other source of entertainment,
or better yet, draw the curtains
so that I don’t become the target of snoopers:
all those flies bouncing off my window.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
