When I get bleak and smile.LESS
When my life appears bright.LESS
I click my patcher. My wizard nudge
is the dynamic style{shit} language
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015
LOL! Sorry, guys!
Code is poetry
Just a foolish style.LESS poem-compilation
Just a hard day’s night…
Broken, unspoken
not mending round the bending
over backwards turns…
I close my self-harmed blind eyes.
It’s my way to feel alive.
I stared at you, too
with the other lights in my
starry-eyed skyline…
My carmine, acid-burned tips
are thrilled to death to touch you.
But they’d stop me cold,
I tremble imagining
true human contact…
Long-distance indifference
is all I’m familiar with.
I over-fatigue
myself with affined-distance
contacts. A cold space
makes me warm. I feel a blade
which tickles my blepharons.
Vulnerable codes
of casual ciphers, cracked
Flirts, being known hurts…
Now I’ve heard a fucking chord…
Hallelujah… hell, I hack!
Lady Scissorhands,
with paper white skin, I know.
I’m Inside-out Man….
Blunt edges give much more fun
with unpicking blue and red.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & RY HAKARI
© All rights reserved 2015
Today I’m happy to show you my new collaboration with my enigmatic and transcendental friend, the wizard of unseen and inscrutable things, Spahr Plops.
This collaboration was conceived by Michael and I many months ago.
It could have been published and forgotten about by now…
But it had its own character and authentic view regarding when it should be born. It was evolving according to its own plan… and it left the poetical womb at the proper time.
Michael, thank you!
Thank you for this space journey!
I’m ready for new adventures with you, because I know that the Guide to the Galaxy is always in your pocket.
I hear how fishes sing
I know how stones sting
I see blossoming of bones
and unlimited zones
Like a chakra
crawling up ya
I hear skin scratch
lightly dusted weeps
heavy with energy
a thousand times
I do feel funny
wrestling wind
I spin like a whirligig
in my static poise
I take a huge swig
of liquid turquoise
My umbilical cord
is a root of the chord
which vibrates inside
my resonant mind
Tells tales of mountainside
madness, alerted when too much
learned how to ride bikes there
letting naturalness sway my course
can’t always recall where
I need to cite the source
Convulsions torture my cramped calves
I don’t have time to be by halves!
…my zero hour to reassume
a risk of falling from the womb
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & SPAHR PLOPS
© All rights reserved 2015
This book smells so redolent,
though the pages feel decayed.
It’s cover seems insolent,
frayed bromide paper displayed.
All, what I craved, lies inside
like a spurned lover in print
who was inked and crucified
by glossing over missed hints.
My trembling fingers caress
the words I cannot escape.
The vowels slowly undress
wound’s consonants, healing, named…
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & RY HAKARI
© All rights reserved 2015
“Angels fly as fools die! Aiiii!” she bellowed as her clothes caught hold
on a stick in the mud, sticking out a hole in the wall, breaking her fall.
“I order you pull me off from fucking hook!” came her command while
face to hat, hanging upside-down by undergarments — “Why petticoat
princess? No, I love your unholy pantalooned look!” the Bastard spoke.
“Mat’ tvoyu za nogu! (Grab your mother at her leg!) V rot tebe parokhod!
(Shove a steamboat into your mouth!)” and the Slavic for “You’re a bald-
coot slimeball!” (Ty pleshivyy urod!) the Black-Crowned Yew-Crane crowed.
Bastion’s confused expression, and crooked hat, however, quickly caused
Petra to lose her shit, and laugh her ass off, before saying, “Baiyan cat,
you can eat Petra” which confused the poor bastard more, so he coughed
awkwardly, thinking she meant her pussy, which oddly enough, she did as
her predicament was briefly forgotten, but still furious, regained her cross
posture, and let fly the beautiful curses, hushing Bastion’s ballsy sarcasm.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & RY HAKARI
© All rights reserved 2015
unbolt me 