Andi Zeneli

I just have too much on my plate

Project Room 440 The exodus The queen simply grew big fat snow stiffened her heart she didnt want them to go especially the workers the cure for their blindness was mothers vaccine motherhood is an easy trick for a queen love makes up for malnutrition and lack of sleep The reason behind parental love is generation exploitation. The queen simply became a coward she hadnt been out for a long time and the door became smaller windows were covered with dry leaves she didnt want them to go especially the markers the cure for their big eyes was mothers vaccine motherhood is a light burden for a queen

she pours cold milk around the tear glands and eyes get smaller The queen became simply grew thick she was able to hear the trumpets although the sound became weaker by the minute the apocalypse started with the departure of stars not the with incoming darkness left behind like a threatened octopus sweating black ink the cure for aging was mothers own vaccine motherhood is the appropriate title for a queen the priests gathered all the wax from the temples and smeared around the cracks of the walls there were wax headphones already for sale The queen finally developed diabetes factories were closed in despair flowers became tainted food like corpses to maggots a scarab climbed on a dung hill and showed them the way the path smelled of young cattle the ladybird wore the tables of destiny and the entire bee nation moved to another secret location. Project Room 441 Halt the race of farers Nothing says sewn carefully for you like revelry race dress. The strap crosses the hull to tie with the front strap on one flank. This vase style is perfect to bloom for race day or vast activities. The stylish dress looks amazing on all marine body types with the hourglass waist silhouette which makes it suitable for slim shells Texas aggie welders will glue to their revelry race apparel to cheer on their rowers

University of Oklahoma sailors whether Thunder or Farther will get to the race either way in our race apparel University of Alabama Rainbow Garter lifeguards will start a stampede to get their trunks on our race dresses Mississippi State bulldog trainers will ring their cowbells in our race apparel The revelry race dress The amazing gift of a bright day The striped farers wear to play Light the campus fires! Fireworks lattice with bright seeds and close the catapult of laces to the classy and chic drapes! Halt the summers loom! The plucked farers are emptying the cloakroom. Project Room 442 A salty toy A small boat out of season survived the tsunami actually it rode it like a water dragon It doesnt matter how many stories the Fukushima sand castle has produced a single lightning bolt can ruin the main gate It doesnt matter the impeccable design of the nervous system a hairpin or a butterfly can cause a glitch on the grid it doesnt matter the size of the continental plates one centimetre a day can set the fuse off Let's face it, even the ocean is brain dead A small boat in the harbour

is keeping the turbines in life support Project Room 443 Toy story Quiet toy that has come so far feel how your departure makes more space around you Let this elbow be your tower and this coconut your Not every bell is meant to toll What rubs your toes becomes your coin Move back and forth to exchange for seafood What is it like to eat an octopus? If you drink its fears dont worry your blood will be dark for a while think of grapes how they turn into wine of papyri what do you make of writing it is not a trade for toys your master was a three year old who barely speaks his name the largest monument you have seen was the cradle inappropriate for this uncontainable sea have you ever seen the traffic lights cars respect blood they are indecisive about moon landing but they definitely belong to green peace If the they have ceased to hear you it is probably traffics flaw in order to move from one country to another you simply need children and a receipt of confirmation where you were bought plastic slave! Project Room 444 Aboriginal Forever aboriginal like magnet that sticks to keys

volume of waving wheat before it was cultivated in the boreal bedroom there are much more delicious plants to consume that wait in a long queue at the hairdressers Evermore aboriginal long hair that teach one another patience, chanting age wrinkles that guide to canyons and animal fat, the lipstick of men Temporarily aboriginal honour of birds that help dust touch the purpose of the wind or other invisible necessities that require respect Harmlessly aboriginal heir of spears that sleep inside bones landless owner of a lake that reminds us 'eat fish' but 'spare their tearless eyes' fruit that invented sweet judges on a bough clouds that become pregnant to birth themselves and a pine needle before the invention of toothpicks that single thread of perfect light bitten by aboriginal teeth its natural end comes nearer like water film aboriginal is emptiness and maybe the darkness too because of the body painting I saved the aboriginal lips from mud art. Project Room 445 Two strangers Two virtuous travellers asked for water in the middle of the night

They saved me from the sun master of the casted iron dagger I believed them with severe hand burns In the East they got me birds with a comb and a wattle but they were not pleased. In the West they found animal skin with striped names on it but all to no reward. I never asked them to send me presents I just wanted them to travel as far as possible from the middle earth. Project Room 446 Chicken fight Two hens were quarrelling who birthed the egg Today? Im old of a sudden I cant wait until the chick is hatched Whats left of my life is not worth the fate of an egg People ask about the poultry quarrel plain roads dont get through to the farm middle of the summer and the flowers havent bloomed dawn and the mirror wouldnt blind a hidden sunflower So, how could a vet get here? My heart is not the same as yours, dear hens If your heart were like mine youd have birthed another egg already. Project Room 447 The initiation ritual The young chin grew up inside the heart the town of blood where people answer questions with taping sounds on the walls of stranded miners

The salt ore followed with its oxen eyes as they entered and left two by two the high and the low tide. The sea split in two clean rivers and dark rivers where women forgot their gossip and trashing logs some wore stockings wet socks are human tails wives swat redundant scorpions on rocks and ants of their mothers in law fish do similar fictitious laundry surrounded by intimidating foam just to be away from home. Lost, between two layered backhands like a pensive head the chin looks for a purpose its father bears a surgeon name its mother has small palms and sour milk its brother used to chase a dog in the yard where sheep were grazing veins A huge pair of scissors were the roads they cut the sideburns astride the porch the chin had seen no mirror before neighbours mentioned the stabbing technique but its sister who practiced hairdressing said Brother, you are an organ there is no need for a chair nor a salons cape the chin felt safe cutting the aorta was probably a minor mistake or perhaps it had got on the way of shears like inexperienced wires of a grass bomb. Adams apple was just a bump on the road towards perfection The chin was happy to imagine a smile Inside the heart claustrophobia was harmful like prejudice some fresh air would be invigorating before the journey

one step ahead before the rest of the body. Project Room 448 Feathered refugees Because of the cat factor and the strangling cables they broke the cage of the interlocutor into blocks and moved it to a safe and decorous place far from where it was welded. For some senior bars the rosy beak hung between a new ceiling and the old floor drawing the attention of a managing bolt and a divorced vet. His dog hung there too the dog of a man who deals with pinioned birds. In a few hours all the detached parts did reunite and it was the impregnable cage again the cage of morning and evening ambushed by the stars and curtains like pitchers in the tavern. But the intelligent vet diagnosed the geometric cuts between the wings the transportation bruises asking: How safe was the transfer? and What were the logistics? The robe of plume was ruined like the folding lines of the overused flag where blood washed the symbol conventional statistics disappeared and the names of heroes faded away. Male or female the last confession doesnt belong to the vet but to the shoulders of the aid workers sweated the only perch and the measure of speed to the new home.

Parrots live in captivity before they are born forest poachers net them bring them to citadels. Warriors play with them so they are well known at the market in and out all day. Theyre given refugee cages to dwell in but bolted in There is also an ethical problem The curses they know are unintelligible to the new owners. Project Room 449 Remote frontier The food that I found and served as a soldier will die, all my delights will either freeze or rot the flesh garnered with sauce will be stolen honey will be kindled with wax agents the field will be sown with dead fingers hills will devour flour and kneed new heights the woods will taste a salad of deadwood the silent lilies will eat dreaming tenors foxes will bite their own tail the den will smell its own dust and cages will digest feathers Let the guards bring me grilled the right hands that grew larger than cuffs so I may know the taste of my little finger the retarded son of the pack and I will change its inferior position with the irritating spot of the pointing finger the smartest of the lot so the guards will start laughing then report to judges who will reopen the process and release the entire body on medical grounds finally, the army will send my stomach to a country where I can fight coconuts enslave native seeds

and learn to eat stubborn grasses. Project Room 450 Life support Fat, white, slick, scratching cheeks through branches and ribs in the pearly noose of the necklace they leap toward fresh trees they rise, sparkling, and vanish like pancakes hot they expand the diaphragm they breathe to make the heart uncomfortable they lift a wide smile to tire the shoulders they slap their tails on invisible bowls enjoying the old carbon jokes they encircle the wet stomach with swans they swim with thick elbows and merge and become a rose dolphin seeking rewards could not appear more acceptable in a body blue and black threading through the seizure foam and lifting himself up with additional pillows to look into the face of the mirror below I find oxygen there pure, sudden, steep, sharp, painful gratitude of the sky that falls on my head I don't know either unbearable tons of planes or the pale, bearable food aid of beads on my neck lifting me from the chairs plain empty seat into the air unspeakable kindness of lungs it is my twenty sixth scale this month on life support and, for a moment, I have almost vanished into the dogma of the fish my lungs have learned to cohabit with liquid

like brain with the hair the bed is full like a water tank my quilt is supple, wild, rising on flank or cotton tail the apostles were twelve dolphins they trained prophets to walk on the lotus singing or whistling or breathing damply through eye sockets at top of head. I am just an observer on a floating bed at a safe distance from the bedlam I chose a cheerful day for my breathing experiment my father and mother were frugal divers the lungs they left me, are hard workers the spongy fields, the cauliflower plots, are the spoils of the war with the sea which has been retreating ever since I quit fishing and dolphins grew friendlier towards grain fins are as good for handshaking as any palm the wife of the clock keeps the pulse click-clacking and the thermometer can play with the dog best I just clap from time to time for the lungs as they dance with the pumps and machines or sit chin in hand and listen to the nurse sing and who should come by from time to time to sigh their admiration? The priests quite often do! Project Room 451 Tragedy of the midwife Midwife mother of December wind blows in the direction of the station hands practice with snow balls feet stomp on dead grass impatient and cold the lava has been frozen for twelve month testing its failed talent of sculpting it doesnt really know how to create gestures

or even a stove or fried fish or tears that like a line of ants lead to the delivery quarters wheat is yellow like pain the mountain was pregnant and still is out of wedlock the temples refused to grant it blessing an avalanche marked the end of negotiations and the tailors league hailed the event as a bridal dressing they even pierced their ears and consumed alcohol at the end of the ceremony then they left the mountain alone only the midwife never sleeps other women carefully remove twenty one pins from their head but the midwife never used a mirror her hands are deep in the crater they bear no gloves or other medical paraphernalia they know almost nothing of geological strains know only that in sharp turns experience matters more than the temperature of inevitability She tries to hide happiness under burned fingers red stones, carefully peeled of moss they have emerged cunningly from the crater during delivery holding on tight to the sleeves of the midwife out of the mosaic its labyrinths the baby is hanging like a heavy cello after the concert I am sure that the midwife will burn alive I let her burn like a witch in the pyre of a hot child she is guilty for aiding the mountain give birth on time to Vesuvius. Project Room 452 The victory against the devil

I know the devil because we have met him he owns the supermarket we have to buy groceries there he has a casino where we gamble a cotton field he bought last year everything we wear was grown by his farmers He has shares in a mining company the harmony of the shadows moving on the asphalt are not the attribute of the sun as we thought. Since I came to dwell up on the highlands how many ten thousands of years have gone by when the devil first grew sheep accepting the innocence of his goats I made a contract with nature chance and change are natural elements that the devil cant buy or own I hid away my anger I staffed rage into a feathered canary perched by the window just singing I was satisfied. Not many people know among these cliffs but white clouds sometimes touch and search my pockets for dangerous substances they find nothing of course then they pour with rage then they thunder Where is your anger? Soft magnolias to lie down on blue leaves for covers pillowed on a mushroom happy, alive Ill let devil and his agents search the earth and take care of other rebels like me. Project Room 453 My old crush for wild horses Old stallion hasnt changed much his head still tilted a little as though asking for patience Why patience? Patience for what?

How about Christopher Reeve? And his charities! Patience for the morning carp to swallow the bait, patience for deer to lose their mind? or both? Patience for calves to reveal their ancestor? Do not bite the chalk when you graze, do not smell the umpire when you net clams, Use canon against stars, but do not flinch when you drink, dont look in the mirror when you limp, drop the bolts from the sandal when invalids wear skirts dont forget your scrolls on the mane of springs do not look back, loading garlands on a small donkey and trust me, life is easier if you forget about horses altogether So I followed the manual I was told to read on foot at first I drew dressage steps the elementary school notebook smudged with horseshoes made visible only by ink then, a saddle I scratched on my childish chair to insult my back what one thigh trusted, the other one blistered from. I often come late for riding lessons for I need a female instructor who drops ropes on the palm of my hand the stallion is still in the wild the same old shepherd with a broken back Before I become a laughing stock I shall purchase a graceful bike from our neighbour. Project Room 454 Village faade

If you meet wild mulberries dont chew carrots or thatch on parsley carts and horses that pass here are the alibi of a village the grove is my secret assignment to find a place birds flock and fast the creek is deep, so fish are safe there. There are wild fruits the boy and wife can pick, hard rocky fields the carrot and I will hoe. And in the house, what else? Just used, single cookbooks. Project Room 455 Violent games I bless the elders who banished the cloud for playing violent videogames you cant always blame ghosts for what their fathers did Wheat worshippers are taking their own lives with a sickle they bought to harvest the dark corners of the village how can clouds be smart if they dont know how to feel sympathy humid bread for the hunger no touched all that bleeding was internal in me one organ donated blood to another without asking first welcome to the wonder of charity the new field of brightness that snow creates without permission the stampede on bridges offering time for each hat to arise and illuminate. Virtually all the advancing technologies are designed not to buff your sky but to bust it As most clouds are used to clash in violent games the land is losing its agriculture heritage I place wheat on the altar of dawn the quiet loyalty of bread

the tent of straw where I shelter I bundle sheaves with cables and unplug wired weeds from the wall May the cloud come dead today to the virtual geography that invites my brain to new harvests where batteries risk being disturbed or charged May I have the courage to sell my computer to live the life out of the grid to postpone the step towards the circuit Do at last, what I came here for and waste the lightning nervous system no more. It begins when you start searching for a CD, bought in high school that resembles the moon before it wanes as searching for words at the end of a song or the data exchange among bats in the evening. I bless the misty headquarters who discharged the cloud for playing violent videogames It, the feeling of turning into a castrated ram is only a matter of style the way scissors pile on top of one another because no clashes are expected nor noise because the hardest blow has already been taken the way rams take it from the charged vapours straight to their horns. Project Room 456 Pussy Cat Riot Saga A paw of Pussy cat Riot will find itself between a rock and a hard place Miller turning the grindstone, unaware of what the paw must face The paw is moved and pressed and crushed like a perfume bottle I thought I would bear the fragrance with grace In the end the grindstone wins of the paw there will not be a claw

Instead the fur mixed with flour will fill the snows empty space Though paw is crushed and bread is gone It has given birth to a new race of pussy cats It is the riot of colours the Siberian tiger from white ashes Flour from colourful snow in this case.
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