Branimir Bojić

Final Automatons
On the night the angels brought back Voyager II
At first
Just a mild and sparsely defined gloom
Of their gangrene faces

The radiation of humanity was not unknown to them

With no free will

The children were returned to their mothers

The breach in internal security was resolved

With no major diplomatic consequences
I had hoped for hazelnuts, the blooms of cherry
And serene clouds
Small cars, submarines, wings
My legs, ears, consciousness
Those undetectable tears
In the fabric of spacetime

My hands, out of my pockets,

with an attitude and flare

Cold with no melody

Await the dawning of the earth
Cannibals

My blood shall be thou body

Thou shall not drink it
Inhale it

So the students tore the master apart

And deep into the night
Inhaled the dark tissue

As dawn came
They understood his teachings
And ate the remains

Blissful of their salvation

They threw the eyes of the master to their dogs
It's nice to have faithful companions
In paradise
Divine mechanics

Never will the acts of God

Be described by electronical
Terminology

Electronics is a being
Complex and diminutive
Pure

God is a power plant

From the mid-twenties
Powerful, dark and gargantuan
Polluter
With him we are insignificant
Without him we are nothing
Pontius Pilate, Vladimir, Estragon and a carrot

to Georgi Gospodinov

Pilate: Ecce homo

Estragon: and here is the carrot...
Pilate: Carrot? What carrot?
Estragon: and a road and a tree...
Pilate: There is no carrot!
Estragon: true...
Vladimir: true...
Pilate: Good, that's settled.
Estragon: the truth...
Pilate: What is the truth?
Vladimir: the truth is a carrot...
Estragon: orange and in the ground...
Vladimir: that's not an insult...
Estragon: nor to the truth nor to the carrot...
Pilate: (washing his hands)
Infrastructure
2.

Second Interlude
(Seven instances of the Baltic everyday)
Riga, the spring of nineteen hundred something
You are sitting in a garden stool made of bamboo
The weather is pleasant for that time of year

Introspecting a park which through some internal

dynamics
spreads and expands evenly
you sit still
I clean my shoes from Iberian gravel
Take out a tilograph, a pen and my pipe
Disappointed, you look away
I laugh at your anger and say
You can take only books and whores to your bed
You look at me in wonder

Then you lie down and your face gets covered by a

white sheet
And I
Stand
Happy

In Riga, the spring of nineteen hundred something

Tallinn, in fire or without
Seven meanings require that many
Addresses
The morning frost keeps silent
Small and fertile

Evening, a gift for those that do not deserve the day

I take my books and go to the study
The journey is surprising, by itself

3 A.M.
Oaths made by the light bringers
Kill the rest

It’s so odd – words without consequences

that seems so irresponsible

I put my pipe out and watch

The random flares of a fire
Replacing a long burned out sun
Konigsberg, around noon
Strolling always took the paths I needed to walk
One time
I stopped
For no apparent reason

A girl was gathering dispersed pearls

I leaned down
And added the pearl beneath my boot
To her tears

Afterwards
With a smile
Lightweight
I continued my stroll
For no apparent reason

The girl was threading the pearls

On a few strings of hair
Helsinki, two thousand and three
Searching for a cab in ghastly weather

Losing patience
It stops
An unshaven head appears
From the driver’s seat
And speaks an incomprehensible language

I take a few bills

And give them to him with gratitude

I sit on my suitcase
And wait
For the end of rain
Sankt Petersburg, yesterday, -33 C˚
Disappointed with alcohol transparency
I photograph the tumors of the alleys

From an undetermined vector

Approaches
A creature
And asks
A cigarette
I take out my pipe, tobacco box and matches

My daughter
With a poetic look
Seeks for arteries
I take out all cash, credit cards
And my travelers cheques

A girl
With a voice full of affection
asks
for time
I take out my grandfather’s pocket watch and stop it

Yesterday, -33 C˚
When Ladoga froze over
Stockholm, January 27.
You can never have too many streets
Even though the avenues are now half the price

Mineralized CO2 removes the blackness

Of yesteryear
And brings the joys of the future

She called me Jacob

I turned and realized
With astonishment
That that is not my name

In Stockholm,
On the third day of the renaissance
Gdansk, in a room of an interwar reporter
The Sun occupied half the window
The city and the sky were forced to share the rest

I put aside the papers and lift up the blanket

The body, still present
Unwillingly awaited my commands

On my way to the bathroom, I dropped my

toothbrush
And it dropped my dreams
Entangled in synthetic sods

Everything else was a matter

Of cold water and a sleepy expression

On the seventh floor

Few days before the offensive