in the centre of the cathedral
the square of a little town
where those in the know tell of an invisible cathedral.
a massive guest
the outside light
there is such purity in the pigeons’ feathers
superfine flour falls from the sky
on buildings on trees on people’s shoulders.
small bones rattle echoing in the coffin of a small guitar
while the world can no longer contain happiness.
there at the wall
two lovers wind into an 8.
late. in their shade
a blind horse
is crying sweat from its neck.

Ion Mircea, from *My Cup of Light

Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends.
From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk:
then time returns to the shell.

In the mirror it's Sunday,
in dream there is room for sleeping,
our mouths speak the truth.

My eye moves down to the *** of my loved one:
we look at each other,
we exchange dark words,
we love each other like poppy and recollection,
we sleep like wine in the conches,
like the sea in the moon's blood ray.

We stand by the window embracing, and people look up from the street:
it is time they knew!
It is time the stone made an effort to flower,
time unrest had a beating heart.
It is time it were time

It is time

**Paul Celan

******* on tobacco as a child suckles the breast
its been more years than a man cares to count.
All the dire warnings are put aside with, 'count your blessings'
" it could have been worse, I could have been a non smoking teetotal genocidal serial killer like Adolf ******"

My words are but a shooting star
To be seen in all its glory
But as shooting stars fade in an instant
So do my words to be read once
Then fade into obscurity

Why do we ask for help from above
When we know no help will come?
Instead in times of crisis we look for
Those with the experience to help
Those in a time
When no religion exists

Keep drinking from that tap
Even when you grow weak
Return still to take another gulp
Make yourself sick from it

But keep going back
Until it ******* kills you.


I stretch my hand out
Red with warm, healing heat
Burning up from my gut
Supercharged by my longing heart

You're just within reach
Let me touch you.

I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I gather...
I analyse...
I stow away all that I've learnt.

Because when the wind would blow
and the earth wouldn't understand.
When the world would tremble,
shaken by man's ruthless hand.

I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I listen...
I keep...
I stockpile in the shadows.

Because in my blood exists grudge...
And my bones, weary from despair.
My skin screams exhaustion
and my body feigns to care.

I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I overthink...
I hide...
I hoard all my thoughts.*

Because the walls have ears
and these pages bear eyes.
What my heart truly knows...
Is that your mouth tells only lies.

I've heard it said
That love is blind
Well if that's true
Then shut out the lights
I don't want to see
The rest of my life
If love is blind
Then so am I
When it comes
To loving you
As I can't see
What else there is to do
Whoever said
I'm pretty sure they knew
That in my blindness
I'd find this true
That in my blindness
I'd be loving you