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Sunday, 29 May 2016

Something else

One day i asked Alice:
what would you do if you missed me so much that it hurts?
Something else, she said.

This is why i write...Alice~

flying cages and Alice

    don't know these flying cages

but have a lot of imagination on flying    cages, deep wells, dark cellars with onions and potatoes stored in slowly rotting wooden shelves and insects crawling in the crevices of the floor, dungeons and Alice and me in all of them being caught in mirrors. Who the fc is Alice?
I lost her on the road, i asked the Mad Hatter, and i am still looking for her.

also i have loads of imagination on apples, orchards, strawberries, cherries, sunflowers, roses, trees, rivers, lakes and cornfields and green meadows and thunderstorms and in all of them Alice and me walking hand in hand, making love, sleeping, waking, greeting birds and foxes and the far hills.
where is Alice?

i asked the moon, the stars, the sun, horoscopes, peddlers, beggars,fishes and otters and card players, i asked in all places i've been. most i got were whispered hints from a snake, lisping and hissing so much that i didn't understand.

now i ask you: where are you now, Alice?

Saturday, 28 May 2016


listening i cannot hear
deaf from the sound
of blood and water
sprayed into wind

looking i cannot see
blinded by hurt and sun
but now these Jacaranda
trees, stirring memory

wake me to feel
the cold evening
and the endless sky
here i am

born into waste land
and so i understood:
to stay.
i say: no.

i ask the wind:
take me.
i asked you.
now i ask myself.

beauty can be present

come to a desert in consciousness with beauty's
barbarian detachment
and see it as it is,
when all is relative
i walk away means something
only in relation to another thing
or person