Poetry of Falling Frames – Book 2
Leaning Walls
By Daniel Buinac
Globland Books
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Daniel Buinac
All rights reserved
The right of Daniel Buinac to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
ISBN 978-0-9569634-3-7
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover photo by Liis Roden
Table of Contents
Poem About Advice that had no Effect
You Pull the Curtains in Panic
Only as an Answer... Nothing More...
Night Between Yours and My Body
Angled Reflections
When Updike Eats an Apple
when Updike eats an apple
he does it so extremely thoroughly
regaling equally at the end
with seeds and stem
as with everything else before that
indifferently equally
I fight all
upcoming emptinesses
have you noticed?
Before Remorse
room like high seas, no doors
with eyes, soap scent
and watch still on hand
your back
on the very end of the other half of the bed
sea swallows ship's lights
Cutting Out the Scene
when I watched through the window
in the direction of the beggar's dog.
before, there was a cinnamon seasoned apple
(gift from your mother) and a summer shower.
after, you will get in with the fat car.
too fast.
the water will wake him up.
on the way out,
before the painting falls down,
I learn the sense of smell.
Blindness
with borrowed words
I push the air in front of my mouth.
they watch me.
astonished,
they wait in vain.
I go out into the smile,
but I dive deep inside myself.
sweaty sunset in their words.
hand on the shoulder…
illusion of consolation
and the strike of reality.
being foreign,
I try to leave.
Presence
no, on the contrary
at the station exit
bus windows turn into
mirrors
whose reflections will blind us
painfully
through the memories
Molehill
open my stomach
when they leave
(when they all leave at last)
and enter with the tongue
of Waring Cuney's woman
with No Images
deep inside
find yourself amongst them all
and face yourself
(leave me)
Lake
Lake
larger than me
we breathe
Thought about depths
is basement of the past
Mud in ears