Bud

I am another eight days on the dusty roads to the Bowing to the Innocence of Sex

I am another nine days on the dusty road to the Bowing to the Sanctity of Sex

I am another ten days on the dusty road till the beginning of the Bowing to Sex

I am a dusty road which leads Miroslav Mandic towards the Fourth Bowing

I am a whirlpool of being, revelation, creation, the rose of a summer afternoon

I am drops of water with which a pigeon is cooling off in this hot day

I am thrown away plastic bag in which Miroslav Mandic picked up thrown away peaches and apricots

I am a cup of coffee about which my friend Miroslav Mandic was writing today

I am the shadow of a wire fence

I am this poem of the oath to goodness and beauty

I am a crumpled paper scotch tape and little grass blade on the asphalt

I am a dead white butterfly on the asphalt

I am a dried up apple on the asphalt

I am a path from tender to more tender

I am uncatchable beauty which is crawling under the skin of each being

I am hey of light, joy of the very life

I am a late afternoon we should go home

I am the corn you are my girl

I am the twenty millionth step of the Bud of Walking by Miroslav Mandic

I am the same what you feel as well