life at home, parts

associations on a kind of haiku

"under a full moon
i eat silence
with a silver spoon"

to write poems is childish, the need to write is born
with pain. as my  love said: unwanted children.

i could try not to present the placenta and the blood
going with birth, but it is hard to distill crucifixion into
honey scented spirit.

and even growth after seed has sprung open
is crooked and not straightforward as in a fairy story.

and it is clear why people do generally not much like to read poems:
who adopts unwanted children easily?

tonight is full moon, still bright and somehow incredible
as all can appear. it is there anyway.

and tonight a candle burns, and tomorrow another one will
give light and scent.

Genesis ,Where The Sour Turns To Sweet

Genesis ,Follow You Follow Me