If the poetry is a fortune,
so I must be the fortuneteller.
Getting poor on rhymes,
shifting nimble minds
out of claustrophobic mode,
I remove myself, as code,
from the deepest mnemonic cellar.

As on Google, maintaining searching,
chopping moments with new ideas -
I am reaching walls,
those - are made of holes,
deaths - are peek-a-boos in lair,
market-broken-news to share.
I’m in womb of myself as trio.

So the new universe starts spinning,
new beginning and novel pivot.
Chaos – bottle’s floor,
cork is opened door.
And the clay’s not fully - bricks
neither heartless-monster-freaks –
call it – Adam and Eve (his rivet).

Rising garden from pure devotion,
horde of snakes guards each fruit forbidden.
Adam – listen, man,
this – your second chance.
Make your mind for sake – conceived,
babies – apple, tempted Eve
and remote control – far from Eden.

Since us both share true me as sonny,
other duo - plays spirit-father.
Who will riddle heart
with betrayal’s dart?
Who will place his honeyed lips -
in the air blasted nip?
Alleluia! (hard-coded) B-R-O-T-H-E-R.

24 October 2008