I want to grow
As fast as my cat
I wanna be big already
How can I do that?

It’s ok to be young
Don’t worry it will come
You will grow fast enough
My child my little one

But I’m too small
Kids make fun
The tree over my shadows
Covering me from the sun

You will grow soon my dear
You will sprout quickly
In another year
No need to fear

Sigh. I guess you are right
You were young once too
Seeing pictures with grandma
I wish I knew the small you

You know me now
I’m telling you child
I’m still that little person
Deep down inside

You know how I feel?
Yes my child, I do
How do you know for sure?
Because I was once you, then I grew

Once at the guillotine

Now an out-of-focus angel

"Crime is shame, not the scaffold!"

She's got a '45 strapped

To each of her thighs

Speaks French with a Martian accent

Wishes she was a siren

When bathed in happy thoughts

Wishes she was the ladybird

When her wings

Confuse amuse transfuse

Into dreams of blood

Lukewarm prisoner

Detained for seven years

Now lies beside her

Asking for a helping hand

She loosens her corset

But tightens her grip

~
Holding court at the Zanzibar,
they looked on good nights
like Egyptian Queens, like Ancient Babylonians.

On not so good nights,
they resembled Brassaï's Moma Bijou -
"fugitives from Baudelaire's bad dreams",
and even then they looked magnificent.

Identity wasn't something you nailed
yourself into in late adolescence.
It was a trick of the light,
and if you were to avoid
burning yourself out,
then you simply let the flames
lick over you
and turned the ashes into kohl.
~

~
Pieces of this and that

From remember when

It used to be a flowershop

She used to smell of roses

Panting church candles

Now and again

From the quiet corner of absolution

Eyes closed to the dusk of sensualité

In search of lost time

"yearning for a song of reply"
~

~
A fire built within

We come together
we break apart

A wind that blows past
and does not return

Carnival of light
moving colors
in the overcurrent

Where is heaven above?

You'll only hear
the hummingbird
skyward bound

Before finally combusting
somewhere in
the upper atmosphere

The resulting cloud
is probably still up there
— more proof that it pays
to shoot for the stars
~