White sheets like white clouds
covering my blue bed
like they do
sky-high

Tears on my cheek
like pillows on the sun
i walk in my dreams
straight to your door

It was the autumn of wine
and i wished you were all mine
but miles miles away
in much grief i’d stay

Unknown faces pass my way
people who don’t love in any way
streets filled with soulless dark
in my lonely  house i bark

She took the part
That broke her heart
And soon would take her life

But the pirouettes
Help her forget
She's dancing on a knife

Time ruins our eyes
for each other,
while the moon burns
down the nights around us,
as if attracted to our madness
and spellbound by the dark
- ness that surrounds us,
yet here we remain, apart
and together, alone in a home
for the stone-cold heartless.

Be wary of men who say your eyes are those of
morning poppy blossoms because they only
want to eat pizza with you, take you to bed,
have you diaper their babies, scour the sink,
paint the bathroom, wash their socks
                               and
when they are old and brains knitted
with dementia, you will walk them
to the toilet and lead them
to ****. This is mostly
truth.

that's the words i hear when i hear European
films, esp. in French,
Quarus! Dvór! Baganiet Buda! the cat just
escaped into the night while i was refilling my glass...
i end up feeling so outlandish, so Essex,
so ******* caveman, so Darwinism
making me feel it only writes English history...
so ******* sorry... so ******* whatever...
living in England for the past 20 odd years
makes me miss continents,
it even doesn't make me Icelandic...
it just makes me ******* sad...
it kinda makes me want to rap...
establish the special relationship with America...
well... n'ah, forget the biblical McKenzie...
sleepers sprout from nowhere,
my father played bridge and water-polo...
i was caught catching pokemon...
                 grew a beard and grew a satchel of fat...
**** yeah mickey mouse!
                 charcoal cha-cha smear and
jokinie in French i want to sink this godforsaken place;
every, single, time, i, hear, of America,
in, England, i imagine rednecks equivalents in Dorset,
never bothered to learn a line of parlez-vous...
it eats at me... the laziness... the xenophobic
cocksure libido... it ******* chokes me...
i just want them to learn French, but they won't...
they're sailing all the way toward Mars!
i hope they bring back a bacterial meteor back
to excavate an extinction...
no, next week's Sunday isn't good either,
to hold a receptive care for a lunch...
******, die;
i'm starting to feel English claustrophobia...
which means everyone has to speak English...
**** me it feels like itchy honey smears up
the ****. ugh.

i just want
to feel
something
again
because you showed me
there was more and now
i've forgotten
how to inhale
it doesn't come so
easily
spinning all my
hours
stuck in between
your hazel & the silence
that
waits for me there

Sometimes I find myself searching
and searching
for pieces of myself that
I've never really wanted in the first place.

And I'll keep that pamphlet,
and I'll cherish that trinket,
and I'll store that bus ticket
just for safe keeping.

And I'll sleep for hours
to see if I can find
what I've lost
in my subconscious

but over
and over again
I find things I never wanted
in the first place

and I'll throw them into the sea
only to swim back to shore,
too late and too far gone
to realize I'm going to have to jump back in.

And maybe I'm talking in circles
and maybe I never really belonged
anywhere
other than where I sleep for the night

Or wherever I decided to
set foot to scavenge
for any remains of myself
that I took for granted.

Maybe a nomad
only finds peace
at the edge of losing everything.
Or maybe they never find peace at all.

gd

-on my mother's last months, or how
to do the final step without moving

I am not ready to go, she said.
I accepted doctor's verdict;
still, I ask: why me, why now, why?

     I hate these vultures, mother,
     that eat you from inside.
     I faintly see them through your skin,
     not even trying to hide.

I am not ready for resignation.
I am so angry about all this.
I am so angry with you.

     Your heart is cut in half
     and all we see
     is darkness:
     distrust, anger, fear.

I am not ready for all the answers
that wait for me on the other side.
Oh, let me have my questions please.

     Your brains are chopped to pieces.
     Little spans of time -
     that's all you keep in mind,
     and dismiss again with ease.

I am not ready to go.

     A premature Tibetan burial,
     a cruel death while still alive:
     witness of your own decay.
     So that's how Mother Nature will finally arrive?

I'll never be ready to go.

     Wait until she comes over the top,
     an almighty demon, an enemy from within.
     So that's our clean, sober, rational world:
     a cold, efficient killing machine?

I'll never be ready to go.

     I'll never be ready to go.