The mind is a traveller,
on an earnest quest apart,
link road to the innermost,
signpost for bold hunch,
meaning is a hazy sky,
lay-by as mere pause,
quietly we trudge in tight bands,
but never wonder why?
time doesn’t play that well,
showing few if any paths,
language can be strained,
notions, slants, angles, terms,
tangled oxymoron at risk,
stifling broad consensus,
world weary air a plague,
night shift, day shift,
life belt for the toiler,
spoken in camp phrases,
that spur to vocal fringe,
who might alter vacuums,
now passively endured
Blackout
In the darkness of the pupil
fragments of chaos float
like a life belt in a stormy sea
close enough
but at the same time
So far away
An eternal fight without a winner
Eyes never lie
Shadows sleep in them
and when I fall
and when I'm not in control
They are my home
But at this dead time of the night
Leaden clouds hide the moon
doing again
that Shadowhunter
feels like prey
When right became wrong
I do not know
There must be something in that darkness
Isn't that a twisted show
with long established roles,
They say "Fate" under their breath
When the sky is collapsing
they say
Better pray
Always the same..
BUT
You can't blame the blackout
what you don't know
what are you
Hunter or Hunting
Or both
Morning snows in my dreaming book of secrets.
Like a Disney movie, sparrows are singing in my head.
An hour after coffee I grasp reality as if it were
inflatable and survivable.
A plane crashed in the night, I know I went down,
but the night forgot the plot in the turmoil
of another dawn chorus call.
Now there is deep snow, and winter forecasts
are already piling into drifts where a few sparrows
bounce weightless in the sparkling air.
Today will be special, I will go to special school,
one created for semi-illiterate writers of sparrow music.
I will choose bright yellow sun-shaped faces.
Helpers will open my book of dreaming secrets,
then slowly in a language made for simpler times,
explain what I said when my mind was fed
by fantastical stage music.
Then after crumpets and tea, the rest of me
will toddle into the night dragging a life-belt behind.
The sparrows will fall silent, a dimmet landscape
will be full of previously downed and drowned,
I will enter it with eyes closed
in order not to see what happens next,
and if we all again die a little, will it matter?
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