Celestial bl(ack)ue

By Daria Galkina

If I am celestial blue,
Is there any celestial black?
In velvet,
Embroidered with beads?
In sequin,
Opaque and matted,

Is there any celestial black?
In glory,
With cut out uncertainty;
And with a lindy-hop talent
For dancehall?

Is there any celestial black
In grace?
Tits looking fit in décolleté,
Heels with the heels,
Glittery lipstick, smoky eyes –
Looking sharp?

If I am celestial blue,
Is there any celestial black?
23 y.o.,
Perky and beckoning,
Red haired and weary,


The weight of words thus impassed

on streams of sounds made him aware

of all the empty strings that lie

on a full and surely scriptable web.

Then spiders roam between the flying

lines, catching now and then

flies that thought not well enough

that they perhaps are not the most

important creatures in the air.

Hence they die, with tasteful flair.

downward rumours

downward rumours

creaking cracking shrieking

every beating

of man of wife of tv

becomes ground in the tv series

thats now but noise

of murdering sirens

ive got the impression

of it on

every scale

major minor diminished

a third inversion, too

revolting against its roots.


and drumming


saturnal trans–

position yet

on the airless wings

of an instrument

of a creation

reproduced and reproducing



Pressing on the earlobe, insistently

pressures the mind a ghastly fantasy.

emptys the neighbourhood

while neighbouring thoughts destruct the mood.