Peycho Kanev at Zombie Logic Review

Peycho Kanev is the author of 4 poetry collections and two chapbooks. He has won several European awards for his poetry and he’s nominated for the Pushcart Award and Best of the Net. Translations of his books will be published soon in Italy, Poland and Russia. His poems have appeared in more than 900 literary magazines, such as: Poetry Quarterly, Evergreen Review, Columbia College Literary Review, Hawaii Review, Cordite Poetry Review, Sheepshead Review, Off the Coast, The Adirondack Review, The Coachella Review, Two Thirds North, Sierra Nevada Review, The Cleveland Review and many others.


Bites

Universe       Mountains       Oceans of dust       Time

The hours did their job       The clock winder       The flock

I can hear those tic and tocks across the hallway but I did not noticed

until now       the timekeeper has no hands.


I am

I am the man lying comfortable in these lines

I am the one picking spider webs off the clockwork of the Universe

I am one person in front of the mirror smoking his pipe

clenched fist with dirty fingernails, that is who am I

snapping mouth singing soft lullabies, that is who am I

I am roaring lion playing with a ball of black yarn

broken beads dancing in the fairy tale, that is me

I am all

without it I am nothing.



Memories Passing by

I’m 30 now, then, (I was), and
like my friends would say: “drunk”,
and might add: “like a novelist”, but I’m
leaning on this wooden fence and talking to this
damsel in red. I think she was older than me
and wiser, yes. And then she was gone, I think…

My memory is nothing more than dirty gauze…

Dancing under the glowing of the street lamp, two
bodies and the darkish-red substance all in one, splitting
with the music, rising to the clouds, sapience and
wine…

This living resembles a poem, a short story,
a novel…

The reader now lives outside of the narrative, closely
to the covers, in the last page, the blood is pumping, rusty
razor and veins are dancing in our collective memory their
endless waltz.

 Time the book to be closed.
Shoot!


Question

It’s dark in here
even during this sunny day.
The light cannot penetrate
through the mirror -
it’s reflecting only me.

Table full of empty bottles
and glasses covered with spiders
and dust.

Window with bars and dirty
curtains.

I am looking outside.

Men are walking around
with hands like
branches!

The leaves of the trees
are shaking,
but there is no wind.



The Others

They sit in the white and green cafés
and talk about serious issues. I
heard them say: None are more hopelessly
enslaved than those who falsely believe
they are free. I drink my beer, thinking of
all of those in tiny cells, looking at
the barred windows, waiting for the pigeons
of tomorrow.