Poems and stuff by Maté Jarai…
Poems and stuff by Maté Jarai…

…a kind of odyssey

Cold and I’m walking

towards infinity

or what feels like infinity

even though I am aware it is not.

It took months, close to

a year, in fact, now that

I think about it. Didn’t realise

anything was wrong, ties were

invisible and the messages

subliminal, I asleep, or

a state similarly

inactive, but not now.

Leather cap has been

on my head

all along. I thought I had

shed it but no, ‘Featherless

And feeble,’ I think.

‘Blind as fuck, or a mole.’

Fuck digging. I remembered

things I had

forgotten and this is

what I mean by

infinity. Those things

I remembered were important,

essential even, and now

the leather cap is burning

somewhere far below

along with the guilt

and the itchy bonds

of fecklessness.


That eagle is probably

dead. Leather cap

fused to its tiny bird skull.

I am not dead. I wish

I were and the eagle

was alive and friends with

the mole. The mole could

ride the eagle. The eagle

could be the mole’s

eyes, describe things

to it, like rivers and stars.

It would be a one-way

relationship because there

doesn’t seem much

the mole could do

for the eagle. Maybe sing

to it? Dance for it? Slutty mole.


I drink many things

Including some green

stuff with a straw

and I feel normal until

the next day when I

realise I had not been

normal at all. I said a lot

of ‘words.’ I’m usually shy

but they are just

words and its Ok to

say them. This is one of

the things I had

forgotten but now

remember, and now

I’m talking too much.

I try to lose

the idea that I’ve

not transformed at all.

‘I’m still the same

but just pretending.’

Or, ‘I’m just a different

kind of stupid.’

There is no way to know

or win but at least I can see

that now. RIP eagle, RIP

slutty mole.


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