I flowed into the dark blue ocean of symbols.
Just yesterday,
I walked with heavy footsteps,
well-grounded.

But once again,
an irresistible force lifted me.
I wanted to see what was above.

Then I came back,
changed,
less happy,
a part of me scattered
in that an alternative universe.

Now, worlds overlapping appear,
The sun is shining with different light.
Words change their meaning.
The fog thickens so,
I can no longer see fissures
under my feet.

Step by step, carefully,
I try to pass through
a dimension of forgotten dreaming.

I don’t want to be stuck
inside an illusion for too long.
Looking at my heart still glowing,
devoured by some voices,
bite by bite, crumb by crumb.

They come in need,
then dissolve like ghosts.

How can one love,
under the heavy weight of knowing—
with Lapis Lazuli pressed
against my chest?

I don’t want to vanish
into sticky spider webs
into formal language  
that is too cold,
too detached.

Two forces fight inside me
To see the truth, even if it hurts,
or to close my eyes,
and idealize brutal reality.

Looking in the distorted mirror,
observing love quivering on the verge.
And thus, the Earth becomes the theater.

The cynical facades ******
with pretended freedom,
taking every hour,
every month,
every year,

into

PROGRESSIVE
DE…HUMANIZATION

still he wonders
if she remembers him too
yet not knowing
she wonders too

“In some office sits a poet,
and he trembles as he sings,
and he asks some guy,
to circulate his soul around”
Joni Mitchell

<>

joni:
your both sides
then and  now,
was my guiding glasses
for a life of motley loving
and love, gained, pained,
lost and found
as a younger man,
and now, as old soul
with rear view perspective,
the glasses tinted transition grey,
(matching his pallor, his hair.
his transient perspective,
trembling fingers as he writes,
with humility,
0
pleeze circulate these
decoded words
mate them out of clay
hoping  come new daylight
one or two, even a few
will lend a rosy thistle, blow softly
an encouraging breeze
upon this poem
the freedom to burn into
glowing embers
in our circulating worlds
of pass/fail
it’s my mere soul
you pass judgement
with a hint of tasteful scents
on
and beyond
with an
honorable push
your mentioned
breath,
guiding them
to the currents
where poems go to
blossom