Väike Arkas

Puhusin tulles sinusse

veidi elu…, midagi veel,

kui kogu koerlaskond,

need andunult vaid klähvisid:

me oleme siin, kuula meid,

vaid natuke veel…,

paar kuldset ampsu,

edaspidi oli vaid tuul,

neli sammu põhja poole,

suunas kus väike arkas,

kes alles pooleldi uinund,

nagu Jupiter ja Callisto,

meid saatis lõikuspüha,

see püha vaim…,

ta neednud lõputuina,

veel enne pidupäeva,

kes keda teenima peab,

seal väljal on lapsi,

nad sambla ja pihelga usku,

randa, kaljut, kütti…,

kotkast kelle sulest valjut,

nad sünnitanud omakohtu,

animus liber…,

nüüd tule kui maa,

mis tiba kandnud lumeohtu,

seda raskust ta kandma ei pea,

nad saanud kõike imedeta,

imelisetella,

mis hirmul toonud 

pisar silma, kui kodu

varavalges, näe pillub

tuues hallad valla,

kõik keerdub piki unetiiba,

las riivaku kõik…,

las riiva,

meil mitu on minekule

mahti…,  nagu isa pojale,

nõnda poeg isale,

kes kustutanud väljast tule,

nüüd kunstnikki ei tuppa saa,

ma palusin vaid pimedusest tule

välja pika sammuga.

The Minstrel of Silver Things

We were monsters

under the moonlight,

the eyes glistening with

some fiery notions…,

you saw what I could do,

who I would be,

and yet, here we stand,

memory is like a foam of dreams,

half alive and half remembered,

your blue undertones…,

my strolling step,

soon the sky lit up,

soon the birds will yell

and fly and play and be,

do whatever the birds do,

we were doing each other,

the old russian chair screamed

of hard and powerful motions,

your heart pounding through

the roof…,

stars were stepping

on their own toes,

I scraped my knees, elbows

and some other places,

pain was mixed with pleasure,

we knew that…,

it was pre-designed, planned,

somewhat I might say,

but there was room for surprises,

later we smoked,

it left white chalk marks

over the darkness of night,

other windows showed other lives,

you got all teary eyed

over some of my poems,

like they were important

or touched some important 

place in you…,

I didn’t want to remember

why I wrote them,

I dont even know

if I liked the reaction,

dont know what to expect

or desire from these Platonic

caves…,

we went from european

summer time to winter time,

I’m tired as shit, 

had to get my teeth fixed,

hate that,

then you walked past me

like you dont know me

and there is much more

to be done with your day,

oooh how I hated the frustration,

but your smile covered it,

you tremble when I leave 

a sign on your triangle

with the white of my fingers,

it is called the Indian kiss,

a far cousin to Eskimos kiss,

I wonder how they do

all the other nations like that,

either way you were happy,

I was content…,

didn’t see you for weeks,

maybe months,

didn’t even think about you,

I guess it makes me cold

for some people,

I myself dont think like that,

I think it is kind to give 

people their space without

filling their mind-space

with expectations and missings

and projections and all

that other relational crap,

you got all watery under the bridge

where we met…,

they told me 

you were like all the other ghosts,

I had to be different with you,

as a real and living boy…,

beyond the Shadows,

I touched your infiniteness,

stream of consciousness,

impenetrable wilderness,

wax-like skin, opal eyes,

blue mist hair…,

sad thoughts made into kisses,

saved by them,

you were like a loud trolley,

San Francisco cable cars,

we have to find shelter,

sky is filled with meteors

ready to fall on our heads,

crush us with the weight 

of the cosmos…,

back at my place 

you read some more poems,

written about you,

mixed in some past exes

and the way sausage gets made,

dirty business this art,

might as well be some pencil pusher,

out and about ye…,

ohhh how we miss the sun,

the moon, the dry leaves,

rusting on the Autumn floor,

winter holding on for dear life,

not dying on our black mud

with its white snowflakes,

there is grace in that…,

I guess, 

to be soft like that,

gentle soul,

to feel unimaginable fire,

earth, water, air,

to hold your kindred spirit

like the last flame,

imperishable dusk,

dusty wind making it dance,

a walk in the graveyard,

last days of October,

soon it will be Christmas,

I wanna be alone,

New Years - still alone,

birthdays, St. John’s Day,

best alone…,

that’s when the magic happens,

also I wanna be with someone,

a special needle in a haystack,

or maybe I dont…,

maybe I’m designed

to want that,

the irrational breeding program

of the human psyche,

evolutional insanity,

shaping our core,

taking care of business,

I guess you hated me

for saying that…,

and other things,

I do say what I know,

don’t know if its always true

or wise to say,

yet I guess I’m not meant for you,

we should break up,

there is someone special

waiting for you,

and I will be here waiting for her,

the sound and the fury,

another one bites the dust,

me vs. Me…,

classic in our midst,

multitudes corresponding

with multitudes,

but love was not one of them,

it was a flaw, a fluke,

a cruel joke for the weaklings

and narrow-minded people,

I kiss you goodbye,

go to bed…,

wake up, wake again,

as someone else,

and the sun ties my shoes,

walks my legs,

breathes my lungs,

fills my life with air,

the time of wild ways,

my ways, wild days,

the ways of that Dark Material,

my wild, so wild days,

ohh harken Heart -

the wild and broken,

the minstrel of silver things.

φάλλαινα

“See on elu tabamatu varikuju; 

ja see on võti selle kõige mõistmiseks.”

- Hermann Melville, Moby Dick ehk Valge Vaal

Ma neetu,

leidnud saapapaela,

kuld langemas 

su kiharailt…,

kaotanud usu,

hoiduda naisest,

ilu kogeja,

näinud rohkemat

kui vaja…,

tuhatkorda-

ütlemisest,

põleb maja -

kodu.

Charis and Gratia

I was a wild little kid,

walking around Tallinn,

alone and thoughtful,

years of neglect touched my face

and my soul…,

I should’ve stayed 

where the pain was,

abused knowledge of power

and nurturance,

the loud port sounds its hammer:

woot, woot!

I tremble in my old age,

the dresses of beautiful girls

give my senses a new meaning,

it means I’ve got company

at 2 o’clock in Hirve park,

leaves are rustling the Old Town,

dust pressed against the floor of history,

it was a fine day of incomprehension

and tension of light particles

dancing against my face,

the face of sheer disbelief,

that trust was earned

and love was shining in all,

places, faces, things and cars,

old me and mechanical things

using pull-and-string method,

like that one Heidi (last name redacted)

and our outlived relations.

It was a mesmerizing thing

of Beauty…, or was I gonna say

tantalizing - 

it gives greed a foul name.

Port sounded another alarm,

I was in University…,

what city? - I can’t remember,

there were masters and slaves

of their craft: Beginners and

the End,

soon the beggars would come 

out of their nests

and violently without any

heed or warning ruin our love making,

smell of Lemonnaja filled the room,

spaces, places and faces.

I crawled a thousand meters

on legs made of wood and weirdness,

Hotel Olümpia was staring down

on any body and living statue,

as a watcher of cosmic proportions,

their names were swapped,

scrambled by the god-head of

invisible forces…,

I saw your strangeness,

curious lines and curves,

colourful palletes,

I would use smart words,

to give a mouthful of my own

complexions…, it was not enough,

wind that came from the farms

turned silently caressing

before entering the Moskstraumen,

I read somewhere: also known as the

Lofoten maelstrom,

a system of tidal eddies 

and whirlpools, I was perplexed,

cheek to cheekbone…,

your fine memorabilia

as your labia said any possible

reference,

and it was sweet, 

sweeter than it should have been,

a Tibetan monk walked past us,

after that a bunch of Krishnaites

were trembling after violent cars

and their violent drivers,

stopping for no one,

hiding their insecurities,

lost in the crowd.

We were all travellers,

you were someone else,

see I told you so,

you would have said,

to rest my worries on an old bench,

after losing all context, time and space,

a conondrum of coherences,

later that night, it was night,

black August night,

sun cast its last shadow,

matter and anti-matter said hellogoodbye

and we were all tightly wound,

asleep like no other,

bound by secrecy and 

the secretion of our never (always)

ending love, I should’ve stayed single,

like that german reich coin

I found with dad, who I now call father

or old man…,

I used to smoke, it cleared the head,

no it didn’t, but I say it still,

I used to drink and think

and shift from melancholy to

abysmal, now I just laugh,

and with pure joy,

I love it so much,

I never found it with you

and you and you and you

and you indefinitely,

no peace of mind, no soul,

no strong adherence to

the fucked up journey of ones self.

I say it not with disdain

or to reprimand some old sense,

I say it with gratitude,

even for the little and loud things,

controlling elements and units

in all my numerous relations,

glad to be a part…,

story to story to story,

Legends of the Fall,

it was a great movie,

maybe I watch too many movies,

maybe we all do…, 

too many movies, music, books,

ideas, too many words and thoughts,

too much of any damn thing,

always flooding, always bloody,

your cycle begins.

Time of that month, a year,

my year…,

when everything was returned 

thousandfold, I say: do not 

go gentle into that good night,

actually it was Dylan who

said it…, with thirst in his eyes,

I guess, never saw him,

maybe if I was reincarnated 

as someone close to him,

or maybe as him, but no,

I’m my own table of contents,

just have a lot of beauty

coming from strange sources,

my mystical behemoths,

art and other curious…,

can’t even finish a sentence,

I walked another mile,

kilometre, whatever,

happy to be alive,

all green is lost, it’s cold

and damp, I’ve always loved

Autumn and Winter,

their names remind me 

of some witchy women,

gorgeous and spiritual,

I guess there’s another ritual

coming…,

guess all this living is…,

just another ritual.

In a league of one’s own

Aeternitas

Fatum

Tempus

I am my Mothers child…,

lost and in the wild,

through the grapewine,

I see my reflection

on a lake of fire and brimstone,

or was it cool and refreshing

as some fantasy…,

a lovers concerto

in my night,

the night that bears my name,

it bears yours too,

so slow and slim and witty,

thrust of a mockingbird,

jaywalking old guy

in leather boots, jean jacket

and a hat…,

so lost and windy,

brrrrrhh, goes the lips

of a hooker near a bar

while her child pulls grass

from the earth of a thousand nations,

liaison in a strange game

that her parents activated

and their parents and their

and theirs…,

until the end of the beginning

of time…,

Grandfather clock (cuckoo)

goes round the time crystal,

running stops on numbers

and letters and pictures,

soon through the trolley 

walks her figure,

holds two bars of soap,

some candy, chocolate

and something else,

a letter maybe (I can’t see),

we are all its playthings,

time, I meant to say,

it stretches you out

then in, bigger then smaller,

out of your life and into mine,

it is a violent beast…,

loud Nature in its song,

it crawls and makes you

crawl…,

then it stands near our bed,

watches, waits,

just so you would forget

about it or think

that you have forgotten

when you havent,

you just smiled in that face,

the Armageddon,

silent chaos, a minx,

cloaked and in red dress,

I bet you find her sexy,

she satisfies your cravings,

you disturbed and disgusting…,

society…, capital letters gone,

just like the wind

and the night when you came,

came into my arms…,

I bet you find her sexy,

just as you once found me.

Mo(nu)ment

There’s a blackness,

a white light…,

rigid sparrows in the sky,

shadow of a god,

when fin meets the sailor,

sea to the shore,

my white sands,

a larks nest…,

vigorous flight across

the soul of this earth,

and you - my last wish,

manifest destiny…,

a true believer,

when our bodies lie

in the endlessness,

the void…,

who calls out

from the night

of a wrong, the fallen,

so wrong…,

to be made right again,

as we beat our lonesome,

the rock…, sultry noise,

clash of angels heads,

your glistening eyes,

figure of speech,

your figure…,

satisfaction so high,

branches of that tree,

the Tree of Life,

and a river…, a boat,

Charon, my ferryman,

you have the coins,

my silver tongue,

and we flew,

the mist with clouds

like dead fingers,

gliding the gates

of this world,

the Underworld,

for Paradise,

like water for the thirst,

naked pictures

you sent…,

we followed

the dogs without sound,

hair like the back 

of my hand…,

like the back of my bed,

washed linens,

soapy dreams of midnight,

tumescent Moon,

weird eye of some 

cosmic beast…,

without form,

in formless,

imaginitive light spectre,

Life und anti-Life,

where the wild things are,

they sleep the dreamless Dream,

of our kiss…,

the first time, (remember),

under the sycamore tree,

old is the name,

the tree…,

our story,

sniffing flowers,

in my garden,

roses and all sorts,

pupils dilated,

orgasms on the ground

that gave birth…,

a Moment,

our moment,

and nothing lasts,

blowing wind:

grateful.

Heavens in futility

[standing outside Ana’s bakery, Harold starts

to lose it]

Kay Eiffel: Harold suddenly found himself

beleaguered and exasperated, standing

outside the bakery…

Harold Crick: [screaming upwards] Shut up!

Kay Eiffel: … cursing the heavens in futility.

Harold Crick: [continuing screaming] No I’m 

not! I’m cursing you, you stupid voice! So shut

up and leave me alone!

- Stranger Than Fiction, 2006

My history is defined 

by falsehoods,

heretics unknown…,

your smile and the way

you left your clothes

on that stained floor,

radiant sun in the forest

of our dreams…,

silent shout,

a whisper, a memory,

stagnant and posthumous,

the way you eat me 

with your eyes,

thrice I land,

once from Heaven,

second time from Hades,

third as a bird…,

Herakleitos can be my name,

just to see you change,

change, change, change,

a violent burst of wind,

when I come…,

Panta rhei,

my dear friend,

or are you torn…,

my Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,

before oneness,

and the strange sensations,

that guide us through,

my dear friend,

ooh how gallantly

it sounds…,

when you howl 

against the big bright 

Moon - your name,

whispered by my lips,

spot on!…, I say,

then to the land

of misbehavin,

and gold, silver, bronze

statues in the alcoves,

fingers made of marble…,

a touch, the touch

of some fiend,

thats how it gets done,

by the river

and some wild berries…,

my friend, my dear, dear friend.

01:25 (10.09.26) päevi enne jõule

tõreduse kauge sugulane,

kurbus mis mustavalt maalt…,

kauge näivus, kui vikerkaari,

värvilise taeva kaunis-magus Paradiis,

sinisesse pragu löönd…,

rõõmu vaene sulas-poiss,

tarmukas kuid pigi täis,

tusa-sula vaka all,

paelad on vetikatest,

naised ei seo,

ammu läind,

varandusi piidlus-punktist,

ahvi ahne võõrutus,

rõõmus mees,

seltsiv, veidi igavlev,

vanadele tüliks,

…, noorusliku jume pärast,

tähti täis kelmus,

Jumal otsind seitset päeva,

kord kaheksas…,

mis unustand,

unustab!

päike paistab koledasti,

naerab armastust kui viina,

pähe ruigab muhku

tahma tolmab tuhku,

isepäine mees,

jalal kaks talda,

kui kõnnib…,

jõuab palju…,

jõuab palju…,

ära anda - 

teiste valu

kanda.

Veeris

ehk kolm õde Southwoldist

leituna redakteeritud tekstivaramust

Kuidas kolmkümmend või kolmsada 

või kolm karmi milleeniumi tagasi

heitsid hunnide karmid pilgud

Siberi ujuvale risule etteheiteid,

kui need Fääri saarte poole aerutasid

tuulte ja muude hoovuslike hoovade mõjul,

et siis kasulasteks tulla võõrastele hõimudele,

Need seal…, need teised!…,

kihutas udu sees olev inimliku tõreduse

musternäidis,

et siis pilkases pimeduses omi õrnusi peita,

kuhu veel kui Southwoldi karmidele kallastele,

mille pehmeid künkaid on kaisutanud 

nii mõnigi nõidus,

Nii mõnigi sõda!…,

kahureid sai peidetud…,

Macbeth - ( ) - Adonis,

see kelle nime ei nimetata,

kui ta abiellus oma vastsega,

koorunud imeliseks liblikaks,

hääletuks linnuks,

Püha Edmundi kirikus nad naiti,

Õigem oleks kosta - “nendega naituti”!

aga surilinad tulid alles pärast voodisse heitmist

ja sündimised, kellade sulatamised maagiks,

(kusagil mujal Eestimaal oodates valgete purjedega laeva, mida kunagi ei saabunud)

see rohkem sugulastest ja hilisemal ajal (vist),

siiski nende pühast liidust tuli siia ilma

kolm tütarlast, peris kobedad teised, (öeldi),

nad naeratasid päriselt ja kaua,

nende huvid olid müstitsistlikku laadi,

ja kui Winston Churchill neid Asjaajamiste tuppa

õhtustama kutsus, teadsid kõik,

et aeg on hakata tulesid akendes kustutama,

teadsid kõik et tulemused sõjas olid nendega

alati kahasse…,

mõni aeg hiljem saadeti nad sundpuhkusele,

mis neid kodumaa randadele taas heitis,

kus rändurid ja randujad nende teeneid

mõne kulla ja hõbedast ehte eest kasutasid,

seal värviliste rannamajade

ja sensuaalse kiviklibu keskel

ütles üks teisele ja teine kolmandale

nõnda koledasti…, (väidetavalt),

et suhtlus igaveseks lörri vajus,

mõnda neist hirmutati tulega,

teist jääga…,

kuid siis jäi vakka seegi kihutus,

mis lõppes nende kolme õe abielude,

meeste kahtlustäratava surmaga,

ning hunnide karmide pilkude pärandiga,

mis senini Siberist tulevat puidu risu ehib,

Lõpp hea…, kõik hea!

Kusagil kaugel põhjamaa suves

ehib valgeid torne üks kolmepealine lohe,

liblik-lind teine. 

Võibolla viirastus.

Salme (ühendusi)

Nende murede kauge…,

kaja, hmm,

kuidas kandus pilk,

lapsemeelne tusatunne,

kui üksindus…,

pelk enese ahistus,

nagu armastaja silmus,

silmad vees,

pisarate peegeldusis,

taastulemiste…,

pisi, pisi,

ära minult salmi küsi,

nagu xenia…,

kodu nisupõllu taga,

vaata - seal eemal,

metsa sees,

kus?…,

näeb armastust,

kui tundest eritisi,

vaat vahvust täis…,

kes kelle jalgu pesi,

nad tulevad käest kinni,

kahekesi.

εὑρίσκω/εὑρέθην

What I’ve found…,

to be true,

a sidetrack, B-side of a record,

a car, undisputed landrights,

faceless corporations,

and you - my love,

feeding off of this corpse,

this human not-being,

and as a winter wind,

that open window…,

too much humidity,

let’s you know about it,

the deep levels and caverns,

things at lost-and-found,

some frail old hag,

true to the core,

we got so well accustomed,

the sun, air…,

your breasts, tightly

wound…,

my lonely sight,

touching all the wheat,

mist in the morning,

and the sound of your feet,

the green, green grass,

all that was beautiful,

was us…,

more than us,

sleepless nights,

when wetness,

more idioms, illustrated,

and the lost got found,

yes, that is what we

must do…,

get found,

and then get lost,

again.

νόστος

Mulle meeldivad rohelised banaanid,

seda olen ma alati teadnud…,

nii on see alati olnud,

aga sinu võrgutuste püüd sellel 

kolmapäeval…,

suigutas mind küll unne,

nagu kitsarinnalisele mehele kohaselt,

vaatan ma sind läbi karmi enese peegelduse,

(mitte näotust tahtejõuetusest)

või oskamatusest midagi ilusat öelda,

olen ilu vist maha matnud

sellesse aegade hämusse,

nüüd siin me oleme…,

ninad nagu seemneteta käbid,

põskedel varjatud vaod,

üksühene meie teadvustus üksteisele

osutatud teenete eest…,

(et oli hea)

…, ja oleme tänulikud.

Diomededae

We are the last…,

everlasting light,

moor far and wide,

greener than war,

two souls collide,

a rapture, a fright…,

yesterday’s morning 

Delight…,

but who would disown?

a wayward Son…,

his coat is black and white,

see the birds…,

they are flying,

the crows, albatrosses, 

seaguls like your fathers nose,

a long and hard goodbye,

a war in your name,

the Mystic fight,

Peace of our time,

rest for a moment,

a moments notice,

white sands 

like papers of Infini,

for honor and all his friends,

the Death of a Merchant,

he is the merchant - death,

like all great kings of old,

and old were his songs,

before the world

and all its suffering,

there is love

and there is kindness,

so sick of its vileness,

its pile…,

a Strohm of turpitude,

we survive,

alas - we thrive,

a noun in the woods

with an axe and a beard,

birds live in it,

create nests,

have babies,

we dont,

so we dont follow,

a stream of patterns,

laughing out loud,

structures of foreign…,

affairs…,

what soil is your father,

ashes of yesterday,

we saw a great white,

peripheral vertigo,

a slow quickness

by his part…,

to undo,

what can’t be 

undone,

so a writing lies

like a visage, 

a pastiche,

on his tomb,

its stone,

a quiet guardian

of teflon night:

“Be vigilant”.

Alanud

Toidu tegemine on räpane kunst,

nagu ka armastus…,

aga sind õgivate pilkude varjus

nad keevad…,

“Õige magus!”

nagu uue elu algus,

puhas, nii puhas

on valgus,

oled Alanud.

Da Soul

Art is a fickle fiend,

she rumbles and tumbles down…,

a whirlwind of forgotten dreams,

a staircase of lost and found,

hmmm, I wonder - me…,

the wanderer (scapegoat),

and some crumbles of foreign…,

just a touch, a small, small,

now it calls as a fish to the land,

mouth open/close…, fiery chasm,

Da Soul,

and a little bit of that sweet,

sweet pain relief…,

down the drain, (water) -

splish-splash,

and a few musky n cute…,

gentlemen, maybe,

and, and, and away we go,

they were angels from there…,

from then,

a sweet, mmm,

so sweet pain relief.

Mezzanine Dreams

*

The deep melancholy dream,

escape the trenches of Sycily…

by the Thorn and Sound,

silently wiggling -

this is a Monsters ball,

creed of a Madman,

mad as a Hatter,

to the Hull and Platter,

seasons change,

water lilies by the stream

somewhere near,

… and who could deny your return,

home of a wild and mezzanine,

the Byzantium of your time.

**

Why wait and wither…,

while the going gets tough,

who?! - bereft the winch

would then sound the alarm (forlorn),

Love like a muddied water -

a brown god (or goddess),

***

to the wreckage, my brother,

death is just another path we must take,

and to conquer its domain,

sooner not later…,

its Zombies paradise, a park…,

a walk through the meadow,

another silent stream of a yellow river,

beat the Lonely Drum,

of lifes imperviousness

and the other one (in quiet thought),

Remembrance…

****

we would be green…,

and beyond green,

to touch the Unforeseen,

as All has touched you,

not with compulsions

or wrinkled teeth…,

bouncing against one another,

like William against Blake,

to the throneroom!…, -

Whats he mean by that?

No idea (worth it),

*****

and with that my dear gents,

…, and ladies of the night,

we part ways…,

Light turns to Day,

and creation is just another,

of Frosts roads,

by the sailing of the seas

(Liquid Landmasses)

Andromeda and Aphrodite,

I am Cetus, or maybe Perseus,

(who would know),

violently I boast with my magic

and swords…,

until you arrive -

my son,

until you arrive.

“Until you arrive - “ is a fragment of a story told by the Golden Lion to the Sea turtle while visiting the Great Halls of Infini.

It recounts the remnants of the Old World and the destruction of Time.

Told by an unknown author who might as well could be the Creator itself, hence the subtle hints of different myths and poets of those times and the Knowing.

More about that in the future and Chronicles of the Unadulterated.

The House of His Moods

To give greed greeds due

and by it be free of it…,

a pasty warrior of words

and spells and wholesome

deeds that some misread,

to some mismanaged hound,

a dog of fearsome…,

nay - a fickle meaning,

who in their right mind…,

show me one with the right 

mind,

but there in the farthest corner

of that scorched land,

The Hand of God,

saved from the sword

with bells and whistles

and the beauty,

to help him leave 

this hollow nest

where there are no 

birds voices,

no echoes and woe,

here we be - the lost

and loud,

the unsolemn,

a sand, a rain, a sea,

the quiet storm

and souls that sing,

intermingled with 

cherry blossoms, wind

and boggled eyes 

of the newborn child.

The Mass of Many Things

It was a damp and curiously sunny afternoon,
two of what couldn’t be together,

as a peaceful act of vengeance…,

trembling trees of unforgiveness,

we swallowed each moments nectar

and it made us drunk…, of life,

of meaning and the mass of many things,

lighter than a feathers touch,

it was too damp and too sunny…,

curious - I might say.

Then time went by,

men sat on their crooked chairs,

pinetrees were smoothly waving 

the cold mornings goodbye…,

as something was left unsaid,

a lovers touch, a souls kiss,

a Devils handshake…,

and the wrinkled newspaper

thrown into dumpsters pit,

regular irregularities.

Old Pinus was a dancer,

he placed baby trees with such care

as holding someone close to his chest,

as giving his heart piece by piece…,

all that was heard was a calm sigh,

nothing more was born that day.

Two or more of us died after that,

not from mnemonia or other written diseases,

but something of a more spiritual kind,

a souls journey…,

the spaces between the visible 

and invisible,

since non of us knew the issue at hand

and even if it was truly an issue…,

we wrote it off as something mystical

and never spoke of it again,

just perceived each our own change,

in heart, body, mind and soul,

Old Pinus was there…,

as all of us.

Some of those days passed by with extreme speed,

like a catcher in the rye…,

to our very own Eye,

just as we were about to be born again,

from all that moss,

covering the rocks like small hats,

Remembrence Of Things Past,

not in times convoluted space,

but of love and life,

that the Mother of this world gifts,

the aspartame kiss…, 

Neon dreams.

Full pledged flag hand,

holding the sun in its wake,

oh what a sight to behold,

and a memory flooded 

the gates of Tartarus…,

as we were walking all rivers,

with the flies, birds and the bees.

Saturday

the 17th of January, 2026

As it should be

The night is young…,

as it should be,

thoughts linger for a moment,

as saying “Stop, hold me more!”,

we are young trees,

world as a forest creaks…,

in its wake,

truth be told…,

this is a moment’s peace,

nothing lasts…,

and it is good,

as it should be.