I feel the weight of nearly a hundred moons upon this suggestive flight deck, overtaken by transfusion in a high formation rhythmic way. Fluorescent headphones—neon red, rotate around neutral zones. Push in, pull out. Swim under the pink, towards some aerobatic link to mother earth. And still, we're not in orbit yet. Your dawning glow you blow into my lungs. Will you catch me if I blast away?

You are standing on the nose of my
Mona Lisa,
from there,
see the stare, 15 degrees,
-you must wonder
what did she see, the stare, this
other way, standing over there near
where
you will be, askance, first glance,
- it not only seems small
- it is in actuality small
you'll think, I promise,
after scuffing the nose of my
Mona Lisa in chalk,
designed to emphasize the nature
of art in our imagination,
one magnitude larger.

I'm lonely as a
dancing ghost in
empty Halls,
waltzing through
memories of a
Banquet set for
many, yet no one arrived.

I long for
her on winter nights
when Christmas is a lie.

it is always the same
restless and sad
one for all, like the sun
like the moon
flowers
tears

only the words change

They will fall to the ground...
Blossoms of the cherry tree...
Without you,
being in my womb...
ripening grain,
And the heady scent
of primrose flowers
from the moon...
and his dust...


به روی زمین خواهند ریخت...
شکوفه هايِ درختِ آلبالو...
بی آنکه تو،
در رَحِمَم باشي...
دانه اي،
در حالِ رسیدن...
و عطرِ خوشِ پامچال ها...
از ماه
و خاكِ او....