I am only here to witness
this business
of staying alive
that isn't really much of a life
days run together
weekly into months
just waiting until the tide floats me out
the door
nothing on the agenda
other than to turn back the clock
an hour
20 years would be better
I’ve been up all night
sat out on the porch
wondering
what it all looked like a thousand years
ago
our cosmic equilibrium
a cold flamingo shivering in our hearts
sleeps through the afternoon in mild
Pleasantville
the fantastic black bus
on a crash course
moves like a mime through shallow water
with a nosebleed
making a quiet departure in the toxic
sunrise gushing galaxies
with the elegance of a forest being buried
in volcanic ash
the matter is lost in the last light
a solar submarine circles the final island
the rapture in focus
myths plugged in
for our daily dose
of inspiration
we began with a tropical magician
and the earth’s moon caught
with its trousers down
while a homeless monster hunting
with a black cat laughs to himself
thinking: we play with the devil’s marbles
in the floating dunes…
Once I was almost
afraid to look into your eyes
your sageless pages
your habits and the age
that brought you here
so wrinkled gray
so utterly missing
the apple orchard's farewell
the grain of stone
now liquid calm
yawing in a fallen morning
more storms with cake
look small in the arbitrary
flowers
flattering darling days in monochrome
moonlight footprints the smallest world
in the world
on the way to town
the frightened window
favors the poet
a clock in a box
without boots
I am almost afraid to start talking
in twilight
slowly rising
I can't see movement or rain
or the night's roots long cold walk
into the light
where is my native land?
my hummingbird nest?
my black and white chessboard
the game's delight?
slave to the dance
to Sundays
and the abandoned lighthouse
by the sunken garden of the sea
once upon a time
once my once
and only
remember
you can feel free anytime
but you aren't…
turning this afternoon into a drawing
of liberty…
word painting to escape
the phone:
hot tulips
reflected helter skelter
upside down in the eye
a vilified jungle
in the spectacular mirror…
think hope…
invoke the soulless
unrequited river
of heavy metals…
add fog and sea kelp
to the fortunetellers fortune…
add the end of a beautiful day
to the pillar of salt
that never sleeps…
and the fissure in the erotic cottage
that is dressed to kill…
easy over the edge contagious loneliness
falls in widening rings:
immemorial swimmer…
you can feel free
but you aren't
old lament...
storytellers
with wide eyes
touching dawn that never sleeps...
parade day of happy pigs in washed out
noonday colors...
the bubbles and waves of the muses
with their pastel baskets
paint an abstract imperfect portrait of the
clearly born viaduct threading the hours' needle
that stitches together the dry land's gray pain
full of thirsty dogs...
with happy talk and burning desires
our nude grace turns red again...
stones overshadow monotony
and under facial hair
a son is on fire in the father...
black frost is already yeasty in the fetus
hanging on...
everybody is shining
in the sea...
white lies at town hall
mutter misty eyed promises...
sexy pumpkins in the rose garden
save face...
it is the gambler's lazy day
with the television's blindfold
calling silver arrows home to nest with the last straw...
handsome candles rise out of fire...
wise old wine is on its way...
*
Through the masks the window
in the coincidences
closes its eyes…
blue mountains in ruins
and silenced beaches remembering
the burning trees
and the oceans' sand art
in surrender…
the armored flesh on the brink
taking a little break
with a quotidian smile
painted on a meadow…
after crying over
comes a chilling offering without
understanding the lessons
we never learned:
the movements in monuments
between 2 minds…
the winter seduction
the lamp in the cold wind…
