Am I composed of
the fading light
of distant stars.
Swirling dragonfly
galaxies that
try so hard
to stay in motion
that for this feeling
of electric
milky energy, they
will forget they exist.
In cloud minded galaxies
life cannot be.
But here the plump
staggering ladies of the sky
will only dance when
they are full. Their
bellies exploding
from too many silver spoons.

Visions of something that fails to be
described by an amateur thinker.
It descends through spirals of
recognition. Meeting elephants
on the way. Fleeting thoughts
of feline minded beings.
“Ohlookitmoves”
This thing will cross from the list
of things that it isn’t. But it is
highly unlikely it can find out
what it is.
Poor something, if only this soul
were to contemplate you a bit
more carefully. Until then you
remain an abstract in the
space around my eyes.

There is a feeling of danger.
/at least, I feel it/
A danger to be left intact by time.

Of course my eyes
would change colors
over the years.
But my thoughts
will essentially remain
exactly the same.

Along the lines of time
we skip rope with the minutes;
no one watches.

A silence. Agony!
There is too much to be said
before the lights are gone
and the clocks deceive us.
From now on we sleep on rocks
and bathe in the suns.

Still the clocks are ticking.
Into lizard states of mind
we can hope to arrive,
as we rearrange these numbers
that lie motionless on the wall.

What a strange fascination