i wake up

a wings' flicking,
a gentleness
of waves
crashing far,
like the wind
beyond the window

i wake up

all stolen away,
every shade,
every string,
every crimp,
flattened
- fiat lux untold

i wake up

it looks the same
fear, too, is the same
what is this lacking?
what am i missing?
a moss echoes
in a violence of tides

i wake up

in the far
           far
           far west
amidst loone
             ******
             lonesome forests
lived princely
a hero,
an absolute zero
in love affair
             fairy

one day, a plaid
               a pledge
he hung he hung he sang

to slug chug unplug
his heart
to blund it
blend it
tender it
in nature feast

and there he went
into the wild
and there he found
piled a mild a maiden
of golden locks

oh such a luck
for suckers
      seekers
who lived in loone
                       ******
                       honey moons

subway

crowded
half empty
empty
and again

all day long

took every direction

as if
i too
had a destination

wherever to

Edges.

This.

A glissando
on abyss.

dared
to ink a voice,
dived
into echoes
of a mirage,
willingly,
delusional.

blue devils'
summoning
watchful censorship.

despondency?
no. the relief
of exiting myself.

Arid heat.
An ensemble
of colour,
the façades
in ruin,
running down,
on my left.
On my right,
a white mirage,
weighting in the light:
the long, rectangular
wall of a church,
running up the street.
Voices behind me,
some old tavern.
Passers-by, not men
nor women, a few,
now and then,
gazing, who's that?
Silhouettes of by-gone
ages, dark ages.
This is not my time.
This is not my place.
I take a deep breath,
lit another cigarette.
No coffee left in my cup.
No refilling is offered.
The tavern drunk
the men, muted.
Birds sing,
regular spaces between,
tree to tree.
The coffee tables are red,
spotting the side walk.
It is nice to be out,
in the ending summer,
soon this heat will
grow cold.
But the sun here
seldom hides.
That is nice.
Church bells.
Heard from so afar,
across the plane.
Time to go,
now.

An horizon,
water coloured
by an impossibility;

the wish
i promised
not to wish;

a strength,
like a faith
in mankind;

my hands,
to shelter
broken wings:

nothing more
and all a nothing,
ethereal, like a heart.