by Petar Matovic
The asphalt lane of the street has kicked out
the television picture, now these dimensions are mixed. Silicon
pollen concentrates energy. The world is coming
from out of an electric socket. Only that sound similar to a heart
in the thorax of an athlete makes noise in the appearance of a hologram
surroundings: in the lines of walkers, the trail of the lined trees and the curb.
Biosimulations do not come from laboratories, but from emotions,
colors snap in nerves, impulses have overfilled aorta,
the body transforms into a thunder lot: we are dispersed like light,
transpersonality condenses us. We are gentle transmitters,
floating in laser beams safely as in a placenta, outside
of the cosmos frequency. We are a heresy, and we take comfort in it.
Translated by Ivana Rogar