Sunday, August 29, 2004


Living in the next day
Timed after myself
And bearing a name
Thinking of odes
Thinking through a glass
In drunkness of other glories
Of other days
Caressing myself
Curdling inside
Tempora, iternum
Chasing myself in the fields
Drowning in urbanity
Past the leaves
Past the echoes
Electronically sensitive
In cups of coffee
In streams of consciousness
Written down
Torn apart between shades
Of joys, of sun
Of memorable regrets
Once again borne
Once again blue the sky
To and fro the sky
Once again Blues
Not you
It's the center of things

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

In the aftermath

Breaking through the ages
In little pieces of mud
In the aftermath of thought
Demographically spaceless, forlorn
In isolation
With consolidations
A journey of unrest
Unmovable landscapes, puzzles
A stranger to my own life
In the aftermath
Lost sight in two fold emotions
Looking out the window
But sitting outside
Stories never told
In understatements
Through blank pages
Laid to rest
Like a journal
Uninteresting stories
It's my own ode
In a navigation map.


You've just missed the last train home.
Who will save you? Caress you?
Who will inflate your dreams?
Inflamate your soul?
Because the dry soul is wise....
But you're just on time for antologies
In delicate souvenirs
Yourself to the Gods you present
But you've just missed the train home.


...But if you can still dream....
Mother used to say.
Out of certain things you just can't get any sadness.
It's finally just about yourself....
Just like in the Arctic, in the eyes of my father...
Face to the ground
Cold white hands...
In the wooden house,
The wooden house I never left....
It's still my name, the same old stories...
With a taste of today, bitterness of yesterday.
Without ties, without phone calls, free of thrill
If you could only forget those things...
Your own pandora box, regrets mumbling outside...
Even here and now you bear the same name
Even in the outside, even by yourself
Odors of fertile ground
Free of language, free of thought
In ultimate wisdom
Just like plants... in time you grow
You yield and part...
Even from your only love, embracing yourself,
Caressing.. and then you stumble.
You're still not complete


Eternity is just an idea;
I rather be slain
By mortality.

Sunday, August 15, 2004


Eyes in the city
Powerful surroundings
Dreams in gray and blue
How insecure
The same sky
Here and there
Just in one day
Spinning reality
Stories of the untold
Distorted, disturbed
As if my tongue could muse
In fascinating silences
O'er cups of coffee
And electronic smiles
Daring into the light
Drowning into the sight
Cut onto frames
Clinging onto bottles
Such a struggle
Myself a battle
In blank pages
We're all made of glass
If all this may just pass?

The young deer

Simplicity, smooth featured life
Painful and delicate faces of reality
And one, Aurora, mementoes
And endless day
Merciless sorrowfulness, in different faces
Takes over
Memories of yesterday's tiles
What what there, will never be again
The violent noises
Yielding a space
Dreams in purple
Again me.
Selective isolation, uncertainties
The old age, the flux of the stories
A timeless line
A tameless line
Broken clouds
Afternoon vanity
It's the same day
In its own sane way
Me in smoked pieces
Ready to disappear
But still there
And hereinafter

....How much I wish I lacked of speech....