Night is wounded
and the blood oozes through hours
till dawn
painting the skies red.
A jagged memory
comes alive
and twists and turns
like a dragonfly with a broken wing
and dances some more.
I am dreaming,
from a dark recess I hear your voice
now,
it sounds the same as before,
I laugh and cry,
I plead you to save me,
but you show me your fingers and count of years
‘You are late,’ you say.
sometimes you don’t even know what you have missed
till you see it again.
‘But I am here,’ I say.
But you wave at me
passing through fog
disappearing
never to be seen again.
Time, time
nothing too sublime
thoughts are just tokens
to get by from day to day
unsatisfying
old age and dying
vanity, defying
the idea of birth canal
to funeral,
the carousal
of waking up,
work and workouts
and money and poetry
and sleazy laughs
and idle talks,
clubs and bars
bookstores and cars;
soon everything
loses meaning,
yet holding on to something
like Jack at the end of Titanic
dying.
Rage, rage
carves me open like rib cage
a dark hollow
will I find a heart there?
my insect brain
calculates the pleasure
and avoids the pain
what can I get from other people
sick!
a fucking post on Instagram
that is all I am
the earth is spinning
or my head is (?)
I want to fly
but the gravity is inescapable
everybody tugs at me
in their direction
like a swarm of zombies.
And now
you are grinning in my head.
I tell you to stop
it feels awful like
salt on a fresh cut
stings like hell but
I am still happy to see you.