Dandelion Hands

My hands smell like dandelions, still.

The pain under my skull is coming alive with thunders.

* * *

City streets are flushed over with dirt.

Cats find their corpses and take the skin on the 7th walk.

Orphan is playing monkey drums in the basement.

All the candles have died down.

The monkey is sitting in the gutter.

His hands are playing in the sea of teardrops.

Silently. The red stripes have formed theatrical circus.

Thousand eyeballs of Loch Ness monster

canned for coming winter.

Naked harlequin rolling up the sleeves

for the ghosts, who sleep with princesses.

To collect them. To drain them.

"Welcome to my world, sire."

The chessman's coat is covered with blue.

Pour out the blood, child.

Drain our the life.

Your home is over the edge.

Gamble rambles and become free.

Who decides if you are insane or not?.

Ask from the voices in your head.

Maybe they will give you the map.

Maybe they will give you the passport and a knife.