I was feeding
my heart on iron
to have it sunk
in a river bed

when it turned
into a dandelion,
blown away
in a stirred tide
of wishing you.

It spread all over,
its blossom, a velvet sigh,
winded by the wings
of a humming bird.

Folly ma'm flings a blast: dress down gown
in bright red wrinkled laugh; she walks down,
hands on twist, scheduled swing
(time's a thorn, **** ticking...
to hell that!) Rock's turned on old downtown!

Are you the man I dreamt about?
I do not know
because you are the man
I chose to love
the way you were.

Yes, my life once had a glow,
I shined in the light of a purpose.
I expected us to be unexpected
and to smile at each other
in the discovery of that change
taking place in an invisible way.

You hold my love, you say,
but you don't hold me as then
in fear of losing me,
making sure I was for real.

We kept moving through time
side by side, insulated alone,
both choosing silencing ourselves,
avoiding convulsions,
suicidally.

Love is a hopeless fool.
Can you not see it in my eyes?
There is an eternal longing,
yes, for feeling to be loved.
This does not feel to be loved.
Unloved, lying next to you,
I am cold. You are cold.
One can not disguise
loneliness.

the night in turmoil
a bumble jumble fumble
of croaks, hoo hoo, purrs, stridulous chirping

then a sudden cringe, ******!,
shush shush
hush, gurgling creek,
hush, whiffled leaves

clippety-cloppety
clippety-cloppety
clok clok clok

a schwing, zing, zip
and a plunk
and a plonk
in a whoosh
and then a scrunche scrunche
and

clok clok clok
clippety-cloppety
clippety-cloppety

silence burbles

tick tock tick tock

shh, shh,
listen:

a sluggy chugalug
and a fuzz of tiny tunes:
a yelp, a eep

stilness

a purr a buzz
putt putt putt
slowly back in motion
the burbles, whiffs, croaks,
the stridulous bumble jumble
of a crickety night

You love me?
You loved me not.

A white wall,
a shadow,
a swing.

You love me?
You loved me not.

Red petals
whiped into the white.

Ripped chest,
open wide.

Winning frown,
she weeps not:

See?
You loved me not.

Not healthy,
I was told,
to need you,
to want you,
this badly
- so badly
I even brought
myself along.

Not healthy,
I was told,
and me and myself
were again unworthy
- and you kept being
unaware of
me being a firefly,
burning a glow
I borrowed from you.

Not healthy,
you told me,
and I resigned
to step down
into my grizzled
hollowed shape.

Alone,
in the self imposed distance,
I lose my voice
and watch
myself vanishing.

*(Why is there still a road
to walk down?)

The house is now silent,
as if always it was this calm -
all asleep, all tidily done -
and in a thoughtful gesture
she reaches for the quilt,
grabbling for the needle minder.

In her mind, a coloured trickle
of threads draws upon the
inlaid tree branch - oh, the blossom
would happen before us,
would we look it trough her eyes
- as she picks a flaming orange
for the feather stich
and an ocean blue one
for a stich of satin feeling

and - there!, it starts showing,
the bird she nested for so long,
that bird bursting into songs
- now and forever catching your eye
here, molded by her hands.

It is so late, now.
Slowly, the unfinished quilt
is folded, threads and needle kept away.
The bird in esquisse flutters in her heart,
watching her stepping down
into the dark frown of the bedroom.