The ring of Cancer once comes around and the evening sky
is still. If you want to look back, spring while the sun was
frowning, darkened distance from winter will make you remem-
ber, head and waters, deep dive, and on your skin, everywhere
you are looking, you see the ocean and endless summer

horizons. I was then much younger, middle earth between my
fingers, father time smiling; in your reflection I saw the sun tall-
est shadow and a diamond skull. In your laughter that was
nearest, the speechless storm approaching, while the beetle
had won the race on the beach, and I ran for something out of

sight. We all long for this day, feeling a gem of ocean deep,
in the colour of blue one planet sized. And you don't say a
word, hold your silence, forever more... Heading deep in
waters and I see the nearest end is everywhere, on my skin...
My soul was the pigeon that flew to Capricorn's ring,

hearing nothing but soundless terror across the sea. Here is
the winter's window and it's blackness slowing down your
deep breath, in an instant memory is nothing, no life, no
beetle, and beaches. If you drown in your summer's dream
your eyes will be the oyster and your sky will be indescent  

in
the
wind
and
waters.

Asking too much from this emptiness, structure and language. Some
love nest between the eyes lies love in complete quietness and iso-
lation, a lonely planet in the distance. Not to want, or a complete loss
of time, or both. From your hips come a tight embrace, gilded in mad
desire from another side of what is life, transferred by frequencies.

Give up defences, dropping of humanities, pyramid of eternal longing
at midday sun, eyes or desolation. We travel on, held by the heels in poi-
son Ivy below, and fly. There is a night deformed by beauty and a living
memory, just keep quiet when you see it or feel it's meteorite burn.
******* back asking too much from a lonely hell?

Expected and dusted the fight and struggle a tiny
dead thread was alive. A few minutes, or seconds. I ought
to read it again in blind faith. And how about you in your
frozen screams? Light feathered bird and white as a turtle-
dove, this soulless creature heavy as a tear.

Know what you love, it is always the same wisdom of ad-
vice. Unexpected, this is what I remember most. Death can
be a strange miracle. It has no heaven, nor earth, or sea. At
least it was unusual physically. A tender dream brief and
gone immediately. Well, that's all I have got to say.

It's not a boatrace who is right or not. We relate to each other
via power and force once or twice in a while. I imagine what
you would look like, a variety of images just pass my mind
without Westminster in your hunchback. Figure of speech. Hy-
pocritical sayings of the house, drink driving and fines. Love

comes through the maze of a mini drowsiness, when you get
up to him and you kiss. I am still here when you had your little
kissy kiss behind the blue door. Am I right when you move on
slow to the left? You are selfobsessed about your cleverness,
turning upside down what used to be my understanding. Per-

haps they let you off the hook, oblique perfection when look-
ing back. My God, I used to be happy! Now I find myself in this
boatrace over a simple perception almost a neaderthaler con-
cept. Captain caveman, come out where ever you are? You are
outside the house sleeping on the couch? I need a stiff drink.

2




Facsimile, with precision technologies in tiny submarines. Two
or three faces extracts in mid- eyed focus, flowers mistaken. A
compassionate elephant's sleepless night, to see the hunter in
his visory dreams. What are you saying about the look of love?
It is upsetting to see the ivory of heavenly beauty, spoil of a

a lost war unforgotten still. The facsimile is showing a windmill
and not a castle, in the thin- aired breeze of the southwind. The
dead animal severed by a loving hand, humanely. Your
dominant mind is not making me an ally, but quiet enemy. Or,
I will count the hours in our lives stonedeaf of love.





3.



Champion of sulking, shine like gold in the bedroom. Sleep
is the fiddler on the roof above our house, in a new concept.
A little inspiration comes back to mind: there are two choices
if we want to keep the mikvah or chuppah. LIfe and living, l'
chaim! Or mazzeltov, putting it politely. Where will the mice

live, the pigeons and me? I am trying to ignore all the bad
vibes coming from that direction. Pointing at you, index fin-
gering. But I am not worried, I got your shoe in my hand.
The world outside is getting ready for a big story. Try living
for once, my love. I am telling you, I am right about the house.

1



A whisper, Frederic Raphael and glittering prizes. We are not
patients in this hospital ward, a couple. The prize, I under-
stand is my birthday present... Past salt on my face, like the
dream you get in the night. Behind the castle, your first kiss
stolen. Imagine what time would be like, the future? Whispers

midday in the summer heatwave we will be hiding in the cool-
ness of the river. Time in the clock is flying, your pick-up sticks
Mikado solitary game behind the wide hourglass, I am still wai-
ting for the body- sun- eclips. In your secret location, a song
about the garden, what's on the petri dish? Micro tessalation...

Tessa Cycle III










1



A whisper, Frederic Raphael and glittering prizes. We are not
patients in this hospital ward, a couple. The prize, I under-
stand is my birthday present... Past salt on my face, like the
dream you get in the night. Behind the palace, your first kiss
stolen. Imagine what time would be like, the future? Whispers

midday in the summer heatwave we will be hiding in the cool-
ness of the river. Time in the clock is flying, your pickup sticks
Mikado solitary game behind the wide hourglass, I am still wai-
ting for the body- sun- eclips. In your secret location, a song
about the garden, what's on the petri dish? Micro tessalation...