Particular light
waving a billion
miles from billion
year ball of gas to
tickle my iris.

And I am shy to show
the ancient traveller
the flipside of men,
blast crater uprooting
the sacred tree of life.

What happened to the
marbled head,
so noble and *****,
the burst of creativity
from cave to modernity?

What happened to sun,
einsteined to power,
the sunny side up
scrambled to gross
confusion and the limitless
cruelty to birthing eve?

Monsters' howling
echoe through the canyon
Taking prey with abandon
Leaving a wake of poison

The roaring fades
then they return
for one of us
we hide in the houses
we crouch in the bushes
eyes wide with terror
the roaring shakes our chests
and paralyzes our minds

Dead bodies float in the river
surrounded by psychedelic rainbow blood.

Phaeton climbed his magic gold ladder,

but when he reached the clouds they crushed his very soul.

His head exploded into orange stars

and he died.

As thousands of years passed

those cosmic creatures turned blue

and became what we see today.

The sun is made of Phaeton's eyes.

I' ve cut my way through life on camelback,
Halting only punctually by the track;

Yes, “punctually” indeed, to sleep and feed
On what was placed with care on my steed:

Sun-dried Thoughts & Language for me; the fruit,
For those I met on the opposite route.

© Lazhar Bouazzi, Carthage, TUN, July 1, 2016

You walk across the room
in your black *******,
a cigarette in your hand
and turn off the fan
in the open window,
like an undertaker waiting
by the door for the headlights
in the driveway debating
another swig from his flask,
like a ***** blowing smoke
in the dark flicking ash.

Somehow
the floor isn't
sticky anymore
yet I'm rooted,
stuck in this same
eternal
lackluster state of
having everything
I could ever want

they all wish to be here
while I only desire to hunger
to yearn - to thirst
for the next...

i have a backup plan my secret game:
a tinder nest
to nurture the flame

i have a backup plan to stop the bleeding:
protect the wound
and treat for shock
like captain kirk
and mr. spock

i have a backup plan for all i do:
even a backup to you
she's all i need maybe more
the tight red uniform looks killer on
lieutenant uhura

i have a backup plan if my truck doesn't start:
a mountain bike to ride to work
like mr. spock and
captain kirk

i have a backup plan for all i do:
beam me up scotty
i'm done with you

I love you
like an eternally expanding universe
seen with the clarity
of a thousand Hubble telescopes
your swirling galaxies
artful nebula
tranquil skies
your solid core

I love you
in molten tongues
calling from the void
two nuclear souls
colliding
every atom undone
fused together
to make one

I love you
until the thread is cut
my free-falling light
so high on your atmosphere
reshaped by your gravity
a meteorite wish
sweet ashes
to your dust

When I believed in monsters
And hid under my bed from the tooth fairy
Back in the days of lizard chasing for hours
Fall was the best season.
Fall was everything and everything was Fall.
The seas of leaves, Falling down, scraping knees
The feel of  the breeze and tire swings hanging on oak trees taller than fear was deep.
Spring water tasted sweeter than sleep.
Dreams were no different from real life.

All was Fall.
Falling down, falling up.
Falling in, falling out, falling in-

You sometimes remind me of the skin I shed. Bit by bit with every trip.
Building better birdhouses. Bruises, scars, and callouses.
Falling down to the ground. Fall leaves all around.
Scraping knees raw. Growing back...and forth.
Growing in and out.
Falling.

Catching myself halfway in a reverie.
Coming out. Coming back into the house.
Coming up the hill, growing up still.
Feeling like falling in love wasn't real.

But you sometimes remind me



of when I thought it was