i may be a demon.
i honestly think we all are.

but its the person that exorcises you,
that shows you love and forces you to fall.

someone once told me
the sweet bird of youth
would last forever

and I guess she meant it,
in a puzzled kind of way,
you see.

just like a pretty flower needs
to be watered and loved to grow,
the sweet bird of youth needs
constant spring
and warm winds
if it's meant to last... forever.

words words words.

in what language
could we ever say
all that we mean,
ever be seen?

silence thus glides.

a shore for stranding.

Friday night
And I am at Hello Poetry.

What else?

wind and fear,
wind and fear!

la sècheresse.
comme au désert.

thirsty.
thirsty!

drawn in distance,
a blurred spot.

yet i am
the wilderness itself,

a rush of light
across the dunes,

a whirl of singing sand.
and you know nothing.