Sitting in the dark room
in this innocent and ungodly
there’s a burning cigarette in
clouds of smoke and one face
in the mirror on the wall that
only vaguely resembles mine.
And then my other hand moves.
I, always this “I” in the beginning,
but I know some things about this
I know that the flowers grow
faster in music,
I know how on the battlefield the wind
loves to rushes through wounds,
how the night closes the eyes of all.
The fear that lives inside the blood
like a large nest of snakes, awakens
when I say your name.
Yes, exactly this fear, which comes
from death and still lingers on.
These bones shining in the dirt,
that scream in the back of the throat
when the moon is covered in dark
I am somewhere there and probably
I am a black bag with a burned book
I am the silence in the jail cell, full of
I am a bloody fist clutching a bottle
Don’t be afraid because I’ll be that voice
coming from somewhere.
Peycho Kanev is the author of 4 poetry collections and two chapbooks, published in USA and Bulgaria. He has won several European awards for his poetry and he’s nominated for the Pushcart Award and Best of the Net.His poems have appeared in many literary magazines, such as: Poetry Quarterly, Evergreen Review, Front Porch Review, Hawaii Review, Barrow Street, Sheepshead Review, Off the Coast, The Adirondack Review, Sierra Nevada Review, The Cleveland Review and many others.