Slobodan Skerovic - from a Poetic novel EARTHPHOBIA, not yet published

Flambeau


That’s why gods are secretions of God, worms crawl between two skins.

Eternal forms, awkwardness, and pecked out livers.

Heroes, congenital mutes, super soldiers, chimeras and balrogs – all that inhabits Champs d’ Eliseè.

Gnoseophobes lying in trenches.

You have peace within, and all else is there.

Here-there, you cannot die, immortal you are.

You think you are, and know you’re not.

True, Messiah took a walk, atoned everything.

Come, he shouts, while drowning in pond.

Frog jumps!





As slave serves him


Undertaker rakes.

In Wine is truth, but little by little.

There’s more of it, in salty water, of Antarctic.

Where rests the hull of Titanic.





Cenozoic, in my heart


Cenozoic babbles fiction.

Sit in the bluesmobile, with Moritomo. There is cobalt sky, and pink lacquer. Some writers lie, you know that. They can’t be translated, to the language of quant.

The battle is around the Museum, freedom fighters swoop in.

Monitors have sunk, bridges dived.

Conquistadores stone adulteresses.

Why do they replicate, when they’re in the way?

Thunder ideas, in October sky.

Drunken machine gunners, blazing roar.

Dancing girls, Arabian princesses.

Push the pedal, let Cadillac rush.

Into flattened space, among the illuminated.

Doctor in house, cures pined away.

Rumi rides an ass.

Known species, Cenozoic.

Possibilities surpass assumptions.

Someone always coming, to slay.

The age of anguish, adjures comet. Great impact, tide to blow away. Grizzly in pain crushes stone. God decided to sweep the cemetery.

From grave arrows, flower and earrings.





Belt of symbolism


Frisky Earth, touches star trek.

Blake, who cushions, iron scooter.

Scans Paleolithic, hunt is banned.

Watch closely, eye contact, but nothing.

Menagerie is down there, they can’t see you, you rascal of words.