Andi Zeneli

Flowers can grow in prison

Project Room 159

How could you put the young moon In a poker game with grown men? This admiralty upon the naval odds Is parting from the night mill Let the opposite wall taw a poster You are not wrong who deem That smile became a foot-in-mouth disease Is the paradox gel of batman that we see But the reversed thirst of clouds coerced to thunder? O swimsuit basket! Can I not grasp The unversed craw with a tighter nanny clasp gem? O rosemary! Can I not save One secret from the pitiless cattle blender?

Project Room 160

Some little advice galaxy Delude into the dental need To stamp a nut with ember Come out to be a moon lobster And take in a good part of salt Don't break the pencil like a blacksmith

Go about business And paddle with with a dark flag Your own canoe Hold hands in a water deposit Filled to the brim You will marry a disk One way or the other

Project Room 161

Prejudice of flowers

Poverty of the pulse Eczema of the keyboard arrow Bird pollen against flower karaoke Funnel the auction towards cumin acquisition Slowly becoming a pilot mate The will to the towel of television Which is to tempt us to a hazardous bedroom The famous unfruitfulness of which

All flowers have hitherto spoken with respect What questions has this will to sponge form Not laid before the prejudice of flowers What strange, perplexing, colourful questions It is already a strong interrogative perfume Yet it seems as if the bottle cleanser Was hardly commenced

Project Room 162

Egg CLOG

I opened my pod to settle the shifting furniture Meridian of the darkness Smelled garlic near the shadow That lay heavy upon the furniture Whose girlish tide Moving back and forth inside the room Was trying to savour The salt of newborn trees Nameless in the forest

If i put flowers in cradles and children in vases And bury tears in the pillow Before returning to the world of sharp spines I could forget the raven during my sleep Before he was finally cropped from the black pod

Project Room 163

I intend to look eastward to the recipe Of the hybrid century Years of sauna wrinkles Scuba tanning of a molten sun Until you win a red stone at the bottom Cobble lottery of the mosaic system Ridding heavy water udders I need a fat cow to follow cowboy friendship And the mentor whirlpool To steal the memories of a polish thief Where the flying-fishes play

Project Room 164

Even cobra was hitch hiking the couch Wearing a swift skirt To escape dusty fingers As a measure of precaution Against the baptism of juniper into ice Glacier that can't hide The headache of spring I had succeeded in making myself bleed Green blood Sometimes, too Just as an instant falcon Was created from the cliff diet So a cushion made for lazy wine Would come into existence While i was crawling on the sofa

Project Room 165

Maternity valley bearing

A large replica of water As the emblem of craft in a religious procession On river day Beside saint twigs stuck to rib griddle And a white bow Shooting diploma hats into the air So no one would notice the missing Moon A severed Ottoman head Salted in the box As a means of Lucubration for poets too poor to afford An oil lamp

Project Room 166

Ultrasound conceived from some strain In the position of my limbs Was the knuckled shell still warm with the kiss? Did the body bend beneath the weight of a pearl? Can my hand be formed by the appetite of gloves? The rest of hairbrushes seemed very remote

In comparison with a sword Whose company I had left but a mirror away Vegan neglect of expensive meat Locksmith of barrier curtains Who was on the point of gratifying Air to a bolted drum Offered me that gratification Ultrasound conceived from some strain In the echo position The hairbrush, almost conscious That its warmth was permeating my hair Would strive to become one with the head And I would carry all these holes To the shipyard immune to drowning

Project Room 167

Numerous flower arbitrations Dealer of pyramid relaxation We are not suicidal Just wear a napa necklace Or a rope occasionally

Both variety of a stethoscope And listen to noises of the body Of ducks and a greyhound Who graduated beside a fen Then starved like a cigarette on the ashtray Legislative lantern Occupation of fungus instead of suburban privacy We inquired About the value of the correctional drawbridge Granted that we want the prisoner's towel Rather than flower arbitration And colour uncertainty Even fragrance ignorance The problem of the value Of prisoner's towel Presented itself before us We also presented ourselves Before the prison Which of us is the prisoner here?

Project Room 168

Anguish

If, As would sometimes window shades Bookbinding and upholstery suggest The turtleneck of anguish Had the appearance of holland Whom i had known usually sized or glazed In my wrinkled skin I would abandon myself altogether To the malignant village of distrustful lavenders Like patients who set out on a journey To see with their own eyes some hospital That they have always longed to visit So they can taste the medicine Which had charmed their fancy And the strike crisp diagnosis In which the chest, back, and abdomen Are chimed to determine by resonance The wedding of internal organs

Project Room 169

Needle plaintiff used to bluff against high vicinity yes sun You should always keep a jack in the dark vehicle if you need to change a wheel Nazis hunted wild boars in Poland My sun is chasing sheep I fear sun's disease this small flag indicating a ship's nationality I consider the sun to be a labourer hired to do outdoor work such as mowing lawns roasting bees poor old moon The first literary reflection of beauty via the sensibility of wild bats who transmitted its dust for all ages even though they never saw it with their own eyes but only echoed it in the terrified chatter of the sun's cave

Project Room 170

Hammock, doily surveillance of daydreaming Rural airway Ventilation architect of hurricane plantations Whose hill baggage I should very soon return to bear Perhaps I had returned the titanium saddle Without the least effort to an earlier rider stage in my life Now forever outdated Footsteps constellation get rid of that plug Dried and hardened into a trace Sapphire ban on pool gravel Insolvent headstone wrapped with the logger jacket Hit the linen bath with water species My aquatic legs grew short in the net Which carried my heart like a dumbbell Not attached to anything Raised and lowered In exercises and weightlifting I don't play music with the hammock harp

Doily surveillance of daydreaming Each dawn I raise this trap To capture the rooster

Project Room 171

Incorporated sea experts shop for blue illustrations dosage of the hat medicine increased proportionally with the rise of solar amnesty guilty pewter of snow and rain we were the first to discern it get a utensil of it and risk using it for there is risk in using alloys containing guilt perhaps there is no greater risk how could unmarried tables be used for skateboarding how can bridal food

poison lawful spinsters and edible snow salvage mountain crumbs? How can horns emerge from a postage head and claws from a courier paw how can earth's carousel measure time through accurate error the will to sleep originated out of insomnia and the generous cottage by the cradle lake out of gateway door?

Project Room 172

Building flea sucked moisture instead of blood Then, gradually, the memory of a warm body Would dissolve and vanish Until the insect had forgotten the fragrance of skin The executive broom would naturalize the foreign mariner And allow fatigue secure the web of resilience Hunter footing used a candle as a weapon

That requires sleepy animals as a payroll Broadband circus contacted cosmopolitan grime Elastic inflammation of the insect warranty Likely to regale for the searchlight of the grill Vitamin of embers for healthy briquettes Crystal disease rather than fungus occupation Neither bathroom anchorage nor the primary caravan Renaissance of the riverside on the concussion of salt Building flee that departed from a warm body And a bee tired of the flowery sequence Whose round ligament around the neck Brought pigment in line with the chain of love

Project Room 173

Erosion of the hose Quickens the effect of commercial pledge Whose ancient genesis is impossible to follow An origin of the water spell That makes the bridle tide burn The wave bower

That supports climbing rants Provided a shady resting place In this seductive, illusory, outdoor office Where the briefcase is faster Than the tractor Which pushed the wristband Next to its bronze award Mandarin cream on orange tattoo If you push the needle too deep You risk peeling the juicy fellow Potpourri of urine as alarm bedding Whoever dreams of it is a coward Things of liquid value Must have a different origin Champagne, energy of the limousine Closed in the porch with a glass fence Sequestered in the hose of delusion

Project Room 174

He used oratory gum to exercise the jaw

in a beautiful country a geared, hot, spicy shore The Lord of sand who among other habits used to live with three hundred and fifty six leaves

(The chronicle may be wrong about the cactus Because he was all grumpy) The Lord did not like clutter Intrigue, in the vestibule of pushing leaves were numbered late in autumn Faired by the lot But the improvements did not rest on the jackpot pond all have at any time swallowed the vitamin of resilience

He ordered to build an indoor conveyor Between the sea and his own bed (Planted in the capillary belt the next leaf turned on - as a happy page) As much as the marine chronicles reveal The conveyor howled at the low tide as the root conductor stood up

to see the orchestra above the brier and dew the shores with green sounds random sandy spots wore ageing bells pearls hanged from every young leaf's ear

The Lord of sand hardly left the shore the immobility of boats that surrounded him was forced upon him among other furniture by the conviction that they were made of sturdy wood

one day the conveyor struck the pillar of an ancient city the royal guard ploughed the shells for spare parts housewives donated their sacred beads feathered soldiers got out of their nests to pelt the angry sky with calcium arrows Topographers collected sufficient impressions what the shore had looked like before the invention of the conveyor gulls were able to identify the sea then they would recall from each fin in succession what the fish were like where the dragnets were

how breeze came in at the windows whether there was a passage outside the beach what pyjamas the sun had on when it went to sleep

Soon rumours started to spread through the palace That one leaf had survived the meltdown her thin neck had escaped the yoke she whispered some secrets to her own ear against royal protocol what section in the article of calamity what codex of chaos provided a clue (accidents are always so much trouble they have no starting prototype)

Lord of the sand hidden in the bedroom Experiencing wakefulness drama On the floor even the dog seemed new not used as a pet the bed was not the same Even a pillow was not tolerable

There lay his leaf, thirsty with desire Next to her magnolia he had never seen

suckling milk and babbling foreign tongues strange limbs threatening the air

the grand shore, the conveyor can not be one with children See, the architect just drew a log on the third board

The leaf spoke of wars fought for a woman invading armies that spew roses from their bow gourmand torches erected on a towered cake and Pharaohs wrapped in bridal veil Ever new sensations infected the ruler confusion vanished from the green sails The night of repair was sultry and oppressive As is usual the state of curious influenza the Lord of sand lay silent in the ruins the seeds of clothes growing on his body interrupted the transmission of the pulse telegraph

Project Room 175

It is a very different kind of alley now with the blood bailee and a mollifying kind of pleasure that I now derive from biting lamb bats only in the evenings dressed up for the malaria carnival dusting the roads where I used to charm fever into which I shall presently dig to hide instead of asphalting them for the drifter

Project Room 176

The yogi whale was yummy her breath was yeasty her back was wobbly her moan was witty her lashes woolly

I had a big mouth practised yoga on my tongue I gnawed, snorted and spat (to the glory of guts)

roaring psalms the rest of the body being totally insensitive a whale is my aquarium transparent and confident and it frightens thoughts of fish Because what is inside the glass does not experience light or fungus whales know how to predict when to swallow a prophet

The yogi whale was tipsy her mouth was wrinkly her ribs were spiry her sand was wormy her wreath was wispy

Project Room 177

What stranger prisoners are there?

I met the season's creditor I locked him in a compassed cage

I made him dust the interior of fern whose woe can never age

No road, no path he ever crossed that was not stapled with his debt the navigator of the frost whose needle never left his thread

yet he may spy the thermometer of hot aromatherapy fawns that play with rising vapour shared with him the hooves of glee

Tonight will be storms' seminar a vacuum bank will be this cage iron bars strings on a guitar escape the music run backstage

Among the birds a bat should hide a fresh garden the weed must seek you must forget that lantern bride fast married to a bleak boutique

Yes, slave mirror, I hear you the lightning rod, the cuckoo's mast

this cage is but a smaller shoe of brave, odd paths and city's dust

Project Room 178

Picnic at the Golden Bridge

Salmon ridge room mate of a golden bridge The grand picnic demands glassware pension Flint password for glass identification The wind is in the steeplejack budget Which makes much of a surrogate pearl United locket of amateur shells Backup unemployment of the coral grief Cupola of modular shrubs Wig of bald vultures Tent of a grisly bear Timid steps stoke the doormat stove Then they till the linen way of a handkerchief Saline quest for a septic tool Resembling wry eyeglass Qualified queen of detectives

Contrived the worst rocky trace Worth vehicular verification Carnival engine of reorganization Camcorder of the owl repel the shadows Biology of wholesale devotion to pets Mailed skin block the envelope Collagen of mud makes the shoes look younger

Project Room 179

As to me, I know of nothing else but advertisement Whether I hit the shamrock of broadband Dart my hat over the roofs toward the steroid sky Wade with naked feet along the escalator Just in the edge of the ceramic heath Play teamwork under elastic, plastic trees Drop hail of coins near the shopping section Sleep in the bed at night and wake up in the bath Doze off at the kitchen table, observe nature on a train Thank strangers carrying my luggage off the car Fend off pert wasps then have honey for dessert

Send oxen of my headache in the fields Throw squirrels on the sideline to swat an error Find in a pool the wallet of the sea, even jewellery An amphibian prophet can walk on shallow mud As to me, I know of nothing else but advertisement If you want to buy a soul you need to pawn your body

Project Room 180

Logo

The changing logo of the mill overland grind debris of flood plumber filing bankrupt shelves so quietly the toy lever leaning towards the baby copywriter of the exquisite, thin curve of the new face in spring blooming on the vertical roof between the eyebrows of a church-porch lead buttress below the metropolitan crossfire smoke of buffalo floor rich in mosaic mechanic infection with cremated gloves searched for the domestic damage

investigation based on weather coordinates miscounted the boatmen rowing the plough and farmers tilling the bottom of the sea

Project Room 181

The stratosphere could catch telepathic messages easily from birds and often when they were not intended for the clouds no one could read a gull's mind or falcon's conspicuous investment the onset of larks wayward to finches vulture probation and the sedan of storks the urban quest of pigeons trademark of modern slavery under stratosphere guidance I developed my telepathic powers so that I shortly could sense practically every thunderbolt that struck around me

Project Room 182

The window was as destitute of clothes as the green mannequins who accompanied her indeed, save for her uncatalogued curtains she was entirely naked, covered in fur nor could glass fodder have enhanced the edition of her perfect and symmetrical canon Gave her milk in Latin and uncertain cuddles Caught up his accent, word and syllable down to the cellar we set bottles free an old woman champagne was the sacrifice the window breathed and fogged my eyes to paint a white face on herself then she was dragged out of my torch into the depths of dark, brick diaries although there was no hail of dejection no loathing rain, no snow of contempt I knew I had failed to offer protection it was hard her gaze to understand

Project Room 183

Heritage touched by the reincarnation of legal administration whose piano has a greater range than the human voice the ambassador of groceries is not glamorous maybe because he represents the food of a country even in your island there is a chance you will see him

Before his organs are moved to another refrigerator (there might be better conditions to escape to) A wild outbreak on the part of ambassador so greatly surprised and shocked vegetarians after a few words of general reprimand they all lapsed into silence and were soon asleep

One thing the episode had accomplished was to assure me of ambassador's friendliness toward the poor and the homeless and also to convince me that I had been extremely fortunate in falling into his secret cables rather than the wikipedia of housewives.

I knew that he was fond of my garden and now that I had discovered

that he hated genetically modified roses I was confident I could depend on him to aid the starving lovers provided of course that such a thing was within the range of possibilities

Project Room 184

Hail's teeth have you sown in the field like a shipyard along the gutter post courtship tables placed in a line allergy protect the witchy flowers anguish be gelatinous when moist but harden on the drying homestead read the information on a crest creek then run the flotation of tarot cards live in the countryside to invent a lake gum for embalming boredom and fumigation hail's teeth need smoke not ice protein shadows in white armour who are born by grove mould, the enamel of carbides below the chessboard of a cemetery

Project Room 185

Dripping lance develop the garden agenda flower digestion calm the retina of meridians circling a blind stomach hungry islander born to fight against the freedom of calendar partnership hanging from the time canyon halter of the technology of expectations dripping lance you bring comfort to capillary of mercury in the trunk barometer this is where I long to see the sweat of your dreams gilding the sleepy pearl corn farmed at the bottom of the boyish sea

Project Room 186

The ritual started with black dice cast by the ghost and her legitimate mask then we dyed her hair again sprinkled trace powder on her feet eyes could shine with anticipation as they followed the tears ghosts have faith in salty breasts even pillows can be merciful I understood the mechanics of pure cotton levers but where could I get a fulcrum how to make tomb flowers bloom I stopped painting cotton turtles 100 years in diameter by crossing the ends of dried brushes and then elevate a pastel windlass -I'm sure I've seen it before somewhere, in the gallows she murmured gleefully

Project Room 187

The newcomer was swaddled in red flags feeling the gun powder between his toes time had accustomed the women's lilt to cradle's presence which beckoned me towards the conviction the days Id spent rocking were all alike platitudes recrudesced my cry and song breaking surfer of the piano wave black and white foam satisfaction of the pompous mediocre horizon line which knew no other way to walk towards the house of sharp spines I built to cover the naked antonym bather whose cradle even for his roof had no stock of anecdotes

Project Room 188

As the mannequin gave me

an undoubted advantage over the marital bargain this writing syringe vexed the scribe by its own efforts, to make any ink-pot seem habitable these shifting ceramic wreath of memory an analysis of a whisk broom made before it is marketed spell of uncertainty as to where the wintry wax was I did not distinguish the successive witch from her mirror of which that zing yolk was composed the white zip of a horse running we isolate the wool position part of a choral ode sung while the poet is executed for without the help of radar promenade custom of walking would never contrive to sell the steak of feet my nostrils sniffing mason's polyethylene Easy custom of an obese cello to vomit music onto the suede nutrient of the mannequin who gave me an undoubted advantage over the marital bargain

Project Room 189

Walking forward towards the dial badge open the door's mid-point of hinge and waist hairpin herring back to the sand of a jar glass envoy beneath Greek colonnades secure adhesive henna on bald pines where the wigs and crowns clustered to fall on birds who snore in sleepy volcanoes parked in the path beneath the pines open colourful envelopes of my carnival with the camcorder I block Cyclops' eye who don't know my name and yell 'landscape' template of green napkins for their eye and other relics of the goldsmith's saga

Project Room 190

Speak ill of the quarry and a hey fork Will erect a climber in the gullet Then sound the stone knell For social death The elbows are no match Upon four winds

I stamp a bell with iron nails I never want to store them away For I believed Stones were shaped by accidents That press the flesh In good graces Statues would open their lips And grin to their woodpecker If they speak ill of the quarry Their ears will be pinned back Like flea wings Which inspired the hymn of meat But before they can launch into a song Insects must get claws into their callused feet And wipe the slush of flower broth Speak ill of the quarry And cracks will writhe For lack of wrinkles to save Horses will rush to a hornet's nest Manes will tangle up upon the dam of wax Logs will grind rivers To the meningitis of puddles

Project Room 191

The line of a banner, blood on my knees shuffling forward florists' Bastille what cauterised a jealous wrinkle was a smooth worm bred to an eel

It was the banner that walked with or knelt beside me there - banner the colour of dawn pain slogans spread and covered the belt on each drop of the hair flow

I paint sunset on window-easel to the east I feed hungry pigeons at night I throw cats like pillows to bend my knees unconsciously crush a florist's mouse

Project Room 192

Medical galaxy in white tricycle gripe that wheel double headed bone

push away the portico that was treading on your design it looks as if god who has been plundered of his bathrobe judgement is advancing in naked wrath But your street clawing its way out of milk eating popcorn during the breaks bawled to a lager ember: 'Let's go and squat that blue mouth then cough up the umbrella into the lair of wild boots'! Your sisters like dunes move by the motion of their individual grains but usually keep the same shape embers are dangerous they will kill you galaxy in a stampede into the portico that was treading on your design gripe that wheel double headed bone in uncertain terms

dog will eat dog a faint bark might trickle out the star track

P Project Room 193

Hairdresser on your guard! The hat's floating I am not drowning but hiding a smooth bottle below the hat hair can talk better under water My bald coin lived for twenty years under the menace of a formidable mint and it still lives stamping the grapes of a fountain wine naming bottle names In my family, you are aware we die to save our labelled hats I entreat you to be silent about the dye and the smear on my hair I am ashamed to have gone so far

but my age carried me away I ask your forgiveness for hiding tears at the bottom of the sink We shall meet again I said rising from the chair and picking up my olive branch I sheathed my head Then as the hairdresser stood disarmed and astounded at his defeat I seized him by the scissors and hurled my adversary to the other end of the mirror

Project Room 194

And may new born babes mine their own coal of dolls I, who praised the black pillows planted a silver spoon into my voice like an Adam strangled by my ribs I may be sniffing the forget-me-nots of Eve

taught to be wary of leaves that whisper the antitheses of a snake it never occurred even to me that tails might doubt on the legs' threshold though smoke signals have made a solemn vow yet I don't know whether toy furnaces exist at all

Project Room 195

Fireflies know where paradise can be found into the sunset karaoke and the summer heat Whether swindling the digestive sponsor of the mulberry or playing with a hanging parachute jackpot on a tree they rub chill air on bare mushroom thighs or grow a malignant rose cancer in my hand it was a firefly that led the Templars Not me monk of droplets praying in the cliffs

and every second a kayak or a nose burst out of laughing rocks fireflies talked I use the Morse alphabet and specially the pulsing headache as means of communication to purchase the dried and hardened mud around the green diamond of the crocodile whose tail trails the endless station where a lighthouse apple red at dawn plum ultraviolet at night is building her simple, aluminium cottage filled with sleepy mice fireflies know where paradise can be found like mascara at the eye of the storm and the death of siesta

Project Room 196

Flowers CAN grown in prison

The pyramid of flowers can grow in a cage the next day the ftes of magnet blocks all the pomp and animation of spiders on a hairy chest the resources of the juniper which used all her needles but to write a book town of letters sent plagues to quarantine friends in my courtroom I want to place my picture on grass curriculum vitae the cheerful disposition of a bee frozen like a pimple on the newborn faces slow honey dripping from both barrels is the poison of their cobra human tongue could supply During the last few days spent in the cage every preparation for the departure of pollen have been made After a bee had taken leave of the imprisoned fleet

and, once again had saluted the relatives in saluting their handkerchiefs she entered her hive surrounded by a brilliant prisoner escort

Project Room 197

Pines used for gymnastic springing and tumbling had hoped that I would use cedar as bait to catch glue but the capitol of clinical passion succeeded in demonstrating to the painter that there would be great impropriety in allowing baptism to put gel on their hair and proceed to elements almost unprotected As soon as it had been settled that I would play bowling with meteors during the campaign the young neon mast

selected a corps of zombie butterflies and other winged officers to form part of its own suite so that it was almost a pine storm that now set out towards the sunset scattering freelance tears on the waterfront guilt Hell is a beautiful country especially along the route by which the conifers passed The weather was very fine pines used for gymnastic springing and tumbling let us motorize our picnic and cast our oiled tracks on the warm path

Project Room 198

Lagoon graduation where pentagram frogs are thrown into the air like hats

equal to the garment thesis with its vast variety of vegetation its blue skies and silver plates the lagoon displayed itself in all the anvil convention pending on a necklace of a bamboo to the new sister of the pride which smoked cigarettes in the urn and received them everywhere along the line of march bingo of the old eucalyptus that forgot everything from above in his desire to awaken in the heart of a triangle a softer remembrance of lagoon geometry to which the recollection of many happy faces belonged

Project Room 199

The husband turned into a florist

Is it any wonder if we at last Invest blood into mosquito retirement Dreams are war veterans and they need a visa While sleeping Husband turned into a florist Veteran of flower fatigue What a pity The conifer easel lost the gender war Painting space grew distrustful Irate galaxies turned blistering away Only the pertinent curtain teaches the window At last to ask questions Who is it really that puts Glass to our faces here What really is this square in us.

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