JAGnięcy szept / AGNus whispers

under the sycamore tree blisters don't hurt no more paths that lead to the quay ideas that go to a drawer rebels will deaden sense nightmares surpass the deed estimate your expense sycamore tree will concede under the sycamore tree dreamed ones are rulers and never intend to flee till one sinks in vain sand rebels will deaden sense nightmares surpass the deed estimate your expense sycamore tree will concede under the sycamore tree bodies will melt and shrink trapped in mad reeling plea kith and kin will lip sync rebels will deaden sense nightmares surpass the deed estimate your expense sycamore tree will concede

Shower sprinkles, shower sprinkles in windows when leaves fall, Cadence whispers in unison, drops chatter unalterable, Lavish drizzle falls and patters on my crying panes… Glass moan… glass mourning… the crystal melts in haze And sluggish grey beam will trickle or crawl… Shower sprinkles, shower sprinkles in windows when leaves fall… translated from Leopold Staff

Elapsed I’m fixing my curriculum Though prospects are nebulous Can I kill more birds with one stone? My stakes seem tenebrous Vaporous progress drags me back The clock withdrew its hands The cup cries out for coffee Denies more hasty demands The world is prone to war I’m leaving through back door When the phone refuses to cry As if for a long bank holiday I’m excavating my life swirls Shall I step back? I’m afraid. Typing lines on t’guitar string Has always been my pick Now tap dance of my fingers Needs a firm walking stick The world is prone to war I’m leaving through back door Detecting little earthquakes causes dizziness Perpetual change could be fate’s bitchiness

  "Day or night - mother, father - I'll withstand in cracking blaster, me, soldier, poet, dust of time that closes I'll go - taken after you: no fear though death at hand,  on, carrying bunches of cravings like those of burned roses" translated from: K. K. Baczyński tranlsated on 1st August, 69 years after Warsaw Uprising broke out "Dzień czy noc - matko, ojcze - jeszcze ustoję w trzaskawicach palb, ja, żołnierz, poeta, czasu kurz. Pójdę dalej - to od was mam: śmierci się nie boję, dalej niosąc naręcza pragnień jak spalonych róż."

  under the sycamore tree blisters don't hurt no more paths that lead to the quay ideas that go to a drawer rebels will deaden sense nightmares surpass the deed estimate your expense sycamore tree will concede

maroon beads dropping on the keys my nose unsecurely seeking a squeegee i need to wipe out the sense of bootlessness and go bare-foot through embers of good advice pizzazz is leaving me both my ends dripping looking for a trowel to lay images from my head to lay down seeing red

life and other shit what is where i'm bound to be why not there doing what so down to earth  like never before treading heat looking out for a change of fleet sticky keys i'm typing my bread nobody sees you don't understand