The beauty of a dancer,
Carefully spinning,
Light, soft, smooth as silk,
Moving at the rythm of vibrating air particles...

Nothing like a bird or a swan,
More like a free indian making an ode
An ode to freedom, to feeling without thinking
Into bringing sadness to an end.

Sometimes making a quick turn simulating restraint,
Yet always ending as it began:
Pure, free, dynamic,
Light blue...

A leaf swinging in the wind
And the sense of lightness that it brings,
As the curtains slowly fall down on her.

You and me,
We are different from other people,
Victims of the same experiment,
Sufferers of the same cataclysm
Lost in the same food for thought,
Rainbow-skinned aliens with antennas and crystal hearts...

Yet, let the wind take over and ride it,
Let the drive which makes your heart burst
Be your fuel,
And let it burn inside you until you've got nothing left to burn...

Let's stop pretending,
Let's not be lab rats anymore,
Let us be more than humans
Let us dream and grab and have peace of mind...
Let's **** the scientists one by one
And finally reach infinity
While experiencing the last brief moment of consciousness
With only a smile.

Into the deep night I jump,
I become involved in her perfume,
In her sorrow...
She just keeps me captive,
Draws me like a magnet.

Not that I don't want that...
She makes me captain of the seas,
Astronaut on the weirdest ship,
Shot like an arrow light-speed,
She makes every impossible and intangible star
Seem like a common rock,
She makes my heart feel like nothing at all,
No pulse, no body, no rational mind...
I live for the experience
Merely spectator of my own existence...

Paradoxes: regular facts,
Time-travel: normal walk through the park,
Entering a state of nothingness:
The trivial awake of every morning...

And so I soar,
And so I let
The sky drive me,
And then the stars and the quasars,
As my existence fades away
Becoming  the matter and energy that
Will be the stars of tomorrow,
Will be fuel running the engines of a spaceship,
Will be electrons and fire,
Will be the echo of a planet's magnetic field,
Will be, lately, the ancient roar of light
From the edge of a blackhole,
The limbo zone expressing the rage of the fallen,
Will be ghosts and gods and angels
Inside the mind of a child,
Who will one day become just a story-telling bartender...
Will be the ashes of a nuclear explosion,
Will be the rotting mob of a lifeless planet,
Will be the burns on the skin of a suffering mother,
Will be light reflected in the eyes
Of a hopeless homeless,

Will no longer be cosmic,
Will no longer thrive and survive,
Will decay and never again see the day
Rising in its exuberance,
As the whole world dies,
Forgotten...
And the light in the stars stays on.

I like the nastiest bars,
Those where the waitress is called names
But she doesn't care 'cause she's too kind
And tries to keep it all clean for 400 a month.

Those bars have drama
Whole worlds and stories continuosly entangling,
Whisky on rocks, vomits and shouts
Here comes Rita the waitress to clean it all again;
Dogs bark in the streets
Women cry in their beds as men get drunk
And kick the innocent trash can over a discussion about gibberish.

The loner cat lurks the street at night
Hunting for hamburgers that fell off the trash can,
The drunk men start a fight,
'Here comes the police!' 'Run-run!'
One falls, gets the blame and a free trip to county jail,
Three others join a party and feed the ******
Money and **** --- tails.

Finally, the last one goes home
To beat the crying wife over the same junk
And the repressed anger only a coward can hide.

See me waiting for you at the bus station
Think of me waiting for you naked in your bed
Dream of me writing poetry with my tongue under your skirt.

See me writing a poem in class
Think of me running the rainy street towards your room
Dream of me desperately designing all possible number of perfect circles IN your body.

See me kissing you goodnight
Think of me holding you at 5 after midnight ride
Dream of us naked sailing to Hawaii the ocean blue and the blue moon moves the tide, swearing to your ear unimaginable '*****' words.

They wouldn' let us, wouldn' do, would be too ***** for them,
For they don' have the burning desire of being human.

The bearded man sleeping on the park bench
An old man,
His walking stick leaning and his bag in between crossed arms.

He didn't have a smile though he was sleeping a rested sleep with his face unconstricted below the shadow of the tall city hall;
Hidden from the summer heat which came early,
Not hidden from looks,
Not caring at all.

The old man holding his half-grey beard with an expression as cool as the breeze.