electric bright

bleed these classical cases of cracked paint chips
and expressed translations of present generation theoretical speculations
that spin round in this mobile of sunset words

...and while sleeping pills and crooked days make for
dark circled eyes,
i sit and stare,

while my teeth chew these words that my throat wont let out

this wicker bag which holds me together is slowly ripping
apart at the seams
and now i wrap myself in cellophane so my heart and all it's ventricles
don't fall out into your blue pained fingertips
and past wrinkled palms

of raindrop days

from this tongue comes tin cups and electrical tape confessions,
and
emotions aren't emotionless just because tears don't
equal cries

these guitar strings pull tight, and my fingers can only play so fast...
but I tried,
I tried.

my coffee is stale, and my tongue no longer tastes...

so tell me the history of these pains made in your legs,

which inevitably inhibit you to run forward...

or at least walk at a steady pace

this beginning was the same as yesterday,

and this unusually sweet tempered disorganization of your mental matter

has mastered to ease my mental instability

so now I sit,

bone-framed in this over sized chair with nothing but pale lips to listen

to your throat cut through my bleak expression

You are the master writer

of paradoxes and insufficient poems, to defend any topic,

no matter how apparently indefensible it be...

but your blizzards give my snowflakes shape

and i only made it 90 pages into these selected papers, which were accompanied by the visiting ghosts to whom we name the past...
but three chapters are much better than never opening the cover at all...

and I am glad I met the author

while you speak these words,

they lack these translations of English,

but there is no need for understanding, because re-entering into what happened in the chapter belonging before

mine

is

yours....

Our observations we have investigated...

they were the ones which first provoked this phenomena...

but through unexpected accidental factors which play a much greater part than is generally known and recognized,

it proves to impossible to manifest this starting point from anything but history books

without eyelashes, this path is nothing...

but truth exists in bloodshot and blacked-out eyes... so bruise these eyelids and lend me

your red-wined lips

perhaps along the way, someone will make me a magician....

to make myself a fire-fly.. so that I can elucidate your crepuscular past,

because sometimes the light

secures secular insecurities


but for now, and last but not least,

i pay my debts to the shape of this bent willow tree,

which loaned me my heart when I thought i needed it

...and I wouldn't have it any other way.