Grass

Grass

Green grass

breaks up

concrete

A bird sings,

then

silence

It is cold

but the signs of spring

glare all around

Another night,

a cigarette,

lost words

The doors

closed.

Skin too tight.

My blood

sings

to nobody.

When

will you come

on your

steed

and sing to me?

Small animals far away

Small animals far away

Sometimes I thought

the gods play-

they throw human guts,

excrements,

spurt our blood

across the skies

I thought they hide

in clouds

enjoy the torture

make a game

of suffering

Maybe they do.

Or they are not

there at all.

But poets do

and neighbours.

Politicians.

We are small animals

far away

stumbling on a chessboard.

But we can fight

and together

we can tear and bite

and gnaw like rats

at the flesh of gods

and neighbours

and politicians.

We should.

Visions

Visions

I walk a  line

between and inbetween,

enhance the shadows

violate the light

There is blood,

it is my blood.

There is spirit,

it is my spirit

There is strength.

I don’t know

how to use it.

I walk , I breathe.

Turtles kiss my face

and lions lick my nose.

I smell death, decay.

I cannot heal.

I live in a jungle,

noise, voices,

I find a path.

I live in the air

dance on a string,

stare at the sea

My eyes are blind

but I see

dark lakes ,

silent swans.

I come back

to myself,

but I don’t know

who I am,

where

I tried to talk

but I get

misunderstood