…once – even without these
frozen words you can no
longer bear to write.
You are afraid to freeze
with them upon a snow-
white page. In the cold night,
the window frame of your mind
is full of fluid thoughts.
They try to get in shape
by freezing in words you find
between the vacant lots
of things bound by tape
recorders of every sound,
let alone smell, touch, taste
and, of course, weird look.
Sometimes you look around
for better ways to waste
your time than writing a book.
The air is so cold that words
appear to freeze when they
leave your mouth. You wait
for them to thaw. It works
sometimes. You want to say
something before it’s too late.
Some words freeze in the sky.
Some words freeze on the land.
Some words freeze in the sea
of frozen words you try
to read and understand
like you understood me…
…once – even without these frozen words you can no longer bear to write. You are afraid to freeze
with them upon a snow-white page. In the cold night, the window frame of your mind is full of
fluid thoughts. They try to get in shape by freezing in words you find between the vacant lots of
things bound by tape recorders of every sound, let alone smell, touch, taste and, of course, weird
look. Sometimes you look around for better ways to waste your time than writing a book. The air
is so cold that words appear to freeze when they leave your mouth. You wait for them to thaw. It
works sometimes. You want to say something before it’s too late. Some words freeze in the sky.
Some words freeze on the land. Some words freeze in the sea of frozen words you try to read and
understand like you understood me…
Artwork by: Mikuláš Galanda
