turn your back
but stay in view at the same time
(now look away,
anything else confuses)

stand still without saying a word

you can’t see but this is how
i separate day from night

and the starless sky
from the empty heart

I would put three sets of leaves;
a bud, one green and one brown.
To show our world has seasons
That perpetually go around.

I would put in an expensive watch
To show that time is precious,
And so that when it stops working
They'll know that time is not endless.

I would put in the Sacred Texts,
To show that man has a Spirit
But I would add in a strict warning
That they should not abuse it.

I would put in a massive blanket,
Made from fabrics across countries in Africa
To show that diversity is the spice of life
And our world is beautiful because it has colour.

I would put in some earth wrapped in gold
And water in a bottle of pure silver.
To show that the true treasures of our planet
Are the grasslands and the valleys, the deserts, the rivers.

I would put in the West African Drum
To show that inside every person,
Lies an ever beating heart
That dances to life's rhythm.

We fall for our own illusion of love,
When in reality, it will all be a tragedy.

The Sun is pointed at my direction






But it never shines

a hand puppet
unable to put up a fight
the hand goes crazy –
excuse me if i’m clumsy

remember the other months
a december that closed its mouth
cleverness (that’s what moves me)

we new ones are out in the cold

lint resembles snow to me
clinging to your eyelash why haven’t i
been able to see which of us is right

let’s repeat it before i forget
that people die in every season

watch the roses fade

a memory
yes
but after
yes
atomic foreskins
pink and fresh
yes
but no
no dream rocoque
no krupp haloes
no religious artifacts
made of lampshade skin
beneath
a million kilowatt moon
no anticipating geometry
the smell of soap
nor calling into question
human sexuality
without flesh
nor the vibration of blood
that angry lobe
hammering overhead
that echo bite
again
and again
clenched
no teeth
no Hiroshima
no again again
black graveyard womb
milk-glass lit
bandaged echo
**** him **** them
familiar bell music
**** them all (with)

****** with a radio
playing schumann to dilate
women

lips
false as a beach
damp
a pearl on the lip
dampened
the blackness of a tear

falling

aside
(wet leaves in a book will not dry)

falling

the memory dies
slowly

a plate held before each face
saying who am i

the moon

(the moon after all)

some balding angels weave together the soldiers
of god the work of a spider the star of despair
local insects, tennis players in
spite of the nets in spite of
the insolent blue which limits us
which nonetheless continues to charm the readers
of english magazines