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Poem

stream of consciousness 


A laughing clown filled the heavenly screen
full of malic, behind him, men were eating children
Wine and blood ran down their chests 
they had the time of their life
Freedom to exploit the weak and call it democracy 
they were friendly and offered me a child's soft arm and thigh
I shook my head, walked on to find my way home
There it was, shining bright on a hill in the afternoon light
The apartment bloc had no entrance
 ropes hung from windows
My flat was on the third floor, painted by a mad Russian
who was eaten by wolves in the forest he painted
I tried to climb up vital for me to get home
I was too weak to slide down, and my hands burst into flame
I put my hands in a bucket of water that turned into wine
that I coolly drank
A fire engine hosted by, I stopped the motor and asked
for a ladder, they had no time to help
so, many other hands-on fires that night
I walked to the ever-lasting river, sat on a stone, listened
to the universal language 
I let go and became the river

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