A Montage of Homages:


I’m ever the devoted fool
Trusting dreams as love
I’m ever the stubborn child
Never repenting enough

I’m the lone wanderer of Nevsky Prospect
Trivial like the gadfly against the lofty sky
Overlooked as a dusty tattered Overcoat
Crushed like an ant beneath the Bronze Horseman

When the bright lingers beyond dusk
When the dark, at dawn, hesitant to depart
Am I ever awake through all of time
Or am I to sleep all white days and nights

All I am certain is, that
Only in dreams can we reunite
All I know is, that this
Is the Dreamer’s sole purpose of life




The Saint Petersburg Dreamer
Long for a love beyond common strive
Yet, only exists to slumber through life
To finally awake when the night is nigh

Upon the earth, he’s a mere dust
When the tide arrives, all will be lost

The Saint Petersburg Dreamer
You mustn't have noticed he’s still there
Upon each and every torn overcoat
Every patch resewn: his dreams and love

And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating planations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesmal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.

if you listen hard enough
there's a buzzing,
it's this realm
doing it's thing,
and no matter what we do
to disturb it,
the buzzing will still buzz,
ring ring ring.
the buzzing has always
been there
and the buzzing will
never go,
it's in you, me,
the trees, the worms,
the sky and everything down below.
the buzzing is hard
to describe,
but you can feel it
if you try,
it's what connects everything
to everything else,
from way down low
to way up high.
the buzzing makes
things work,
and the buzzing keeps
us alive,
the buzzing shines sun
on our crops,
and rains on us so
we can thrive.
The buzzing was made
a long time ago,
by something or someone
that people call God
and some talk to the buzzing
and ask it things,
to which the buzz gives
a nod.
Don’t look too hard
for a reason
why something does
what it does,
everything just happens
because it happens
and they happen
because of the buzz.
the buzzing was there
before we were,
and before anything else
was too,
and when we're gone it'll just
look for something else
to send it's lovely
buzz through.

sometimes just sometimes
when i'm up i start to frown
because i start to wonder
if the up is worth the down