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.

Tessa IV

Burying the mill deep inside the fire of the sun, solar winds
blazing flames high and low to keep me alive, just enough.
Half way you are near and far, with the whole world listening.
What's this new message about the Dutch windmill? She was
illumination from Mars, and I crashed millions of years across

the blue sky of lost gospels and hymns, do you know? Do I
need a second chance of change? A sharper corner into your
secret blade, but perhaps too late and I won't even know.
What do people do for love beside homicide? Money is bigger
in these eyes, yours and everybody elses. The windmill is still

burning slow, ending the story of my real time. But I am
patient and I will have another life, if she won't be my long
lost daughter. White rose of my grave, in this German myth,
is making me speechless. Innocent bystander standing by
the sun and watching how fast a wooden mill can turn to ashes.

Tessa III

"I believe in human rights," Chet Faker, I am trying to
find your softer side over Bose... Trying hard to forget the
ghastly scare you gave me. Smoking cigarettes and deleting
details I think you shouldn't get too deep into...
Underneath, when swimming, the story is getting more sad.

Explain to me about India, Kamasutra of many pages long,
why your part was left out. Many years have passed, dry blee-
ding the sun in shameful memories, I was on the other side.
Time is becoming a long stretch on the couch, if you remember
how you danced, exploring rhythm and ecstacy, when quietly...

Tessa II

If we could live in a grain of sand, and pick a place. Still
feeling a little unsettled, you or I? We should build that
grain of sand, together. I am listening to Blues Brothers, and
I don't know why. Perhaps trying to stop your pain and anguish,
gosh! I have never known Tessa II. A connotation like Ivan

the Terrible. Tell me the story, all of it. Before execution I need
to know the truth. In a civilized world it is integrity, your
weapon of choice. Not acting smart and uncool won't make
you last or lasting. It is purity of conscience. Connotation II,
Lady MacBeth? I have an ordinary life, you should manage that.

Wednesday, open window into the sun. Eagle sub-
merged in our wall, ancient as limestone or basalt,
while holding you. Our last goodbye, between land
and the Red Sea, Time disappeard out of nowhere.
Sinai has no ambivalence, now or forever. Time

changes everything, if you're lucky. Blue in the window,
and I touch the sky to make a wish. One drop of water in
your balloon, fast asleep for centuries. Ahh, revenge is so
sweet, darling. But it is getting late, tomorrow comes down
from the galaxy when full of stars. We will be looking up.

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.

Tessa I



The morning felt distinct soft as female ***. A sequence of
dreams followed through the night, unstoppable. It could be
succinct ***, only between adults with common sense. We
are going to have a renaissance of love, or agency. Yes, I am
quietly trying to find out what happened. Elohim can see you

, and your prisoner. This is a new level of complaint for me,
Delilah. Time for some other kind of music, English Gothic.
We're designing this life again If you're going to give me
a second chance. And not just saying that you would if
you could, and let's slow dance. I am the world and his wife.

(Music: English Gothic, Coley Garratt)

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 I

It is not a laughing matter, watching life through bro-
ken glass and memory loss in an instant. "You did give
me that horse," death changes everything. Friday after-
noon, like any other day, only more wonderous after my
collapse. Why you kicked me in the head is making me

wonder about a sitcom, cruel and vengeful. Was it love,
Tessa? Or was it Coca- Cola, Miller Beer oats and flakes?
Revenge or consumption? You want my honesty, you are
hijacking Time. Give me something, inspire me, manage this
life you want. I am giving you the secret key to a new start.

Tessa III



Two people sitting unidentified in cinema seatings missing
reality. If we touched classical screen will be on, two to 20
minutes long. A private facility at home, what is happening?
A million faces said it before, *** can't change things when
silent. It's not about the hurt or pain of memory humanity,

a gut feeling that won't come out. Your bowl of fruit, act sur-
prised. Turning up the dramatic sound, it won't be a smash hit.
I am trying to forget about your special traits. I got talent, you
see... If I go toward the exit first, our secret will self- destruct.
"Houston, we have a serious problem. Re-entry zero burning."






Tessa IV



It's easy once you see it, yours and mine ideology. I
want kindness from you, from me, when we sleep. Bla-
ming is the gravestone when all method is dead. Our
bed is floating and we can't say why. I am capable of change,
another challenge to meet the talisman. Indifference

to use in this sentence upholds the vision, was it virtue,
loneliness? That is the supporting middle that we have.
Friday morning glory, coming in boxes on the table. For-
tune teller in your tealeaves, what is it saying? When will
I be dead? The level of threat has moved to another level.






Tessa V



Weekend readings, a million heads per second. I do the
writing, and so a few hundreds more. The gurkin inside
your oyster, making intention go blue and green. The sun
is what I call the architect. High shadows when looking be-
hind now. A glorious morning, I can just smell the coffee.

I am looking forward to a good saturday this weekend. Dis-
tance between us is a good thing. This lovelife is homeless,
without memory. Let's grow old more decently, talk when
having breakfast, or just be quiet. You know when they say
'a good life', I don't see it in your eyebrows. Oh, please, don't

smile... Sometimes I wonder why they left you, stunningly
beautiful when you were young. What can I say, my charitable
me is a DNA- thing or the Chuckle Brothers. One more thing,
what is it with this metaphor, when you are young with the sun
wrapped around your waist? I am just happy with my readings.

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...

Tessa VII




I am curious, on your man, woman- advice friends. Tac-
tically impotence only wants to say, what if? The long line of
this hissing in my ear can drive me mad. And than I'm saying
'Look who's talking'. It's the diplomacy on treading carefully
on your feelings. What if I hurt you and lot's of apologies?

Your friends are holding me in contempt for loving the way
that you are. Or, that could be a state of the art opinion and
self hollowness, when liberated for too long. Horses don't eat
meat or Beef Wellington. And you are a fine equus, I know...
I am waiting for this morphology, muscles turning to butterflies.

Nine days ago we were in unfamiliar territories, still. A diamond
had fallen from off the forehead unto the floor, a stony wall
horizon. I am following the Ivy towards your thinly path through
the woods. It is more than a thought, or impulse. If you want
my advice, a moment's blindness could do us many wonders.






Tessa VIII




Where is the fountain of youth in our future, today, tomorrow,
thereafter? Interesting seeing or watching two adults trying
hard to find this childlike 'would you like to be my friend?' talk.
Men walk through rocks and mountains, and women are at the
tunnel's end waiting for collision. Questions are being asked,

whether we started off the wrong way. It wasn't in my app, or
yours and looming before us. You grassed me up, I am a British
criminal of the surreal land. Marshes and bush are on fire, I like
singing this song. Or change all this to care for each other, and
forget that we are pixies. I never liked Kilroy, my late

confession. ET went home, alone, and now is staying on the
planet of Extraterrestrial. As for your idyllic nature the fountain
of youth was love. A quiet place in the evenings perhaps, and
I will find you there. Halfway under the full moon and spider's
mating season. If death may be the fate I may find, playwright.






Tessa IX



I need a cigarette, chuckle at something trivial, or go to bed and
call for the whales. Why it end up here in this way is only
making sense if you are a living memory. What is the story of
your life, a matey question unanswered. You are trying to hide
from triviality, I get that impression from afar. Pain in my shoul-

der, just off the blade. Are we going somewhere this after-
noon? The cricket field is empty or mental asylum. How do
we pretend in a pretend world? Let's get M, the M- word,
or negation and forensics. I need a hug or group hug of you
and me. If you can't laugh now, I am not a comedian, S U C.

Tessa VI




Sunday morning, I wonder if you are happy. Smart happy,
or just happy. Ten days ago it was about my indiscretions, and
how you engineered the wife- thing up close and dangerous...
I have lost the bird in my hand, in exchange for the pyramids
of Egypt. I also wonder, did you go to church today? Not becau-

se of affection, but for confectionate reasons. Sprinkling here
and there your Bible- religion for the morning. I am not looking
back. We are in the new realities in Real Time, and tomorrow.
About the bird, she was my phoenix with scanty white polished
feathers. For subtlety we scored a very high heaven. The L-

word now lies between the sun and earth. I understand, you
need me and I need you, vision. Love at this stage of age can't
be coincidental, plain and simple. I wonder if you are happy this
morning, when looking at you through the wide window. It
could be telepathic, if life is smart between us. I answer...

Facing my demons and speak their lingo, nothing philo-

sophical, something that murmurs about a tiny insect, and

destruction, in all of the land, in all of the land. What comes

premature, herald of the natural me, strong and the heavy jolts,

I face another moment's turn to demon speak. Long dead tales...