Lost leaf.

Was it at six

this morning;

when velvet blinded windows

still hide night life

for unwanted glances?

It was this morning

- as a friend tends to tell me,

I should be precise -

at seven past six,

that the petiole detached from the stalk,

cautiously accurate,

as if Someone's hand executed

with surgical precision.

It felt as a relief,

for a sigh at least,

and not even a second

later I landed safely

on the greasy soil

surrounding the tree.

Laying on my moldy bed,

looking up with my humic eyes

I saw the man staring

at me trough his

fogged windows

from behind

his scarcely opened curtains.

I had no problem to imagine

his next move.

Wasn't I sharing his life since almost

half a year or,

- as a friend tends to tell me,

I should be precise -

wasn't I sharing

weal and woe for

fifteen million seven hundred twenty-four thousand and eight hundred seconds?

A forgotten tear spreads

over the calculator's display

and he cries or,

-despite my friend's insistence,

I can't be more precise-

Is it me crying

?

for lost time

a lost love

a lost leaf.

A prayer.

Yes thee, with

a name for

eternity to whom

I address this prayer,

I'm addicted to you

my goddess

in a religion called

live

in a practice called

love.

Whispering almost

lisping,  with trembling

hands,  folded

fingers outline

a shadowed picture.

Despite your absence

your shade covers

my thoughts in

a heated embrace.

Dry dead skin

sweats ice, lacking

your radiation.

While,

melting

reading your words,

trembling  

hearing your voice,

shaking

seeing your effigy

my body is already in

transition.

Being it

my last longing,

devoid

of any pleasure,  and

only to prove my devotion

to thee, with

a name for

eternity to whom

I addressed this prayer,

I'm begging for your child.

Untitled...

          ... yet.

Being the messenger of

my dreams

I, dutifully, reported 

to 

myself

at 

awakening

this 

morning...

as usual.

Once again...

last night

my fatigued mind

recorded, remaining hopes

and

leftover wishes,

and

some residuary longing

and

never ending craving.

It looks like training

my brains for better times,

reviving the lived past

while

estimating the uncertain future.

Till now...

today

made no difference.

Engulfed by the sheets.

sleep befalls me.

At dawn...

tomorrow

reality will inundate

a murky mind.

-

Still Life.

Read also the page About Still Life.

Shy as a

breeze a

caress flighty

touches skin.

A heart

pumps lust

flooding

sheets.

Shamming dizziness

molds a thigh

into an

unwanted shape.

A will

owns

an aim as

obsessive drilling.

It is the chemistry

between flesh

and bones

merging.

A hair,

dark, is left

on the cushion

after the fall.

One color red

splashes out of

the everlasting

sepia pubes'

violent beauty.

With one look

at, in, on, over,

up, under and

behind the bed

the versed veteran

value's the

Still Life.

The dream before dawn.

Last night,

just before dawn,

in a dream,

I took the decision to reflect on my life

in a dream.

In a dream,

-not the same one as-

last night,

almost at daybreak,

-or maybe it was not

last night so

probably it was another dream-

I was reflecting upon a decision I took

in a dream.

One night,

in a dream,

-in a hurry

to wake up before dawn-

I had to decide quickly if a dream is the right

moment...

-is that the right word

 or is it the place,

or maybe the condition,

the situation?-

... to reflect on the state of my life.

In a dream

I had

some days ago

on the threshold of morning light,

my life was filled with tough

decisions and uneasy reflections,

and -something you can expect in a dream-

improbabilities and implausibilities.

Now

In the clarity of daylight

I'm asking myself in the

leftovers of my consciousness

if my life was something I have dreamed of

and if I have to apologize for it.

I'm wondering if I

will get the answer(s)

before another dawn.

That light again.

Inspired by my fetish phrase “A mild lemon light rinsed the street” from Humboldt’s Gift by Saul Bellow.

Lanterns and trees

lined up as drunken sailors.

An unknown square

in a village of my fantasy,

or not!?

And that light,

hardly discernible,

inadequate

to assess the distance.

I can't see

how far away

I am from you.

In the rammed earth

my steps are left as an outline

from the past.

Naked lanterns

drawn in a row.

A cold lane

in a city I know,

or not!?

And again

that light,

now reflecting on the paves.

On this cobbled road

my soles can't leave

a printed impression

for the future.

Can you hear the soundscape

or is it just the noise of my heels?

Yes it's me there on that plot

running around making footprints

waiting which direction to choose till I see

that light again

mild lemon colored

rinsing the road.

I can see now,

how far away

I am from you.

-

Q? ... A! are not required.

What will happen?

If my eyes got lost,

If I forgot my view

[and

I can't remember where I left it]

What will happen?

If my ears fell down

If I forgot to hear

[and

my eyes are still not found

to search for them]

PS.

Also looking for hair to caress

as mine forgets to grow.

Can Someone inform me about?

The state of my arms

[Someone once liked them]

and

the length of my legs

[still too short aren't they?]

Sorry, I can't hear the answer.

Did you say...?

...I'm lucky because...

I still posses my imagination.

[yes, nobody came to take that from me,

at least for now]

My biggest concern is

how long it will take before my

tongue gets too old

to translate my voice

[in words of love].

Since a while

[I'm so lucky]

I decided about

the last image

[and I found a place to keep it

safely]

Now

 [not to forget where]

as a parrot

I'm cramming my brains.

a small poem about...

Love
more
than desire
more
than lust.

Skin to skin
fitting in each other’s
lap
full of heat
to find the
life source of eternal desire
over and over again.

Rediscover.
Renew.
Restrained
repressed
bridled
lust.

Fearful lust.
Anxious desire.
Anxious love.
Endlessly anxiously
loving you.


.

And time goes beyond distance.

And time goes beyond distance

while I prepare my flight

with packed trunks

lost dreams and

volatile notes.

I want to eat out of your hand

as a tamed sparrow

waiting which finger to choose

to get the full loot.

My memory is drying out

from guzzling emotions

and what you offer are crumbs.

Wounded bird doubts

which way  to choose,

the easiest,

the fastest,

the safest,

to leave

this tired tale.

You are Louise as in

Rilke's'

Louise luckless love packed in

dissolving paper ending in

an opened coffin stored in

a robbed tomb.

Meanwhile

time goes beyond distance.

What would you have for breakfast?

Beforehand:

 I apologize if ...

(I do not really feel sorry, but a bit of drama adds to the setting.)

... what you thought to be a portion of

romance or a poetic reverie

looks rather

a medical bulletin.

As a slice of suffering is

entertaining so many people

all over the globe

these days

I thought I could

not,  not

raise the subject.

This being said

I would like to share now

with you,  my

freshly baked skull aches

to put on a

Sunny Sunday Morning

breakfast table.

A mindful headache;

a scratching ear;

a runny nose;

a tearing eye;

a bad breath;

a scraping throat;

tooth ache!

I'll eat my hat you

have identified at least one

of those weaknesses

or shall we call them flaws

or if you prefer deficiencies.

Be prepared to have for lunch  

a meal of neck, back

stomach and other floggings.

And for diner

the illnesses of the

lower limbs.

I hate to say it...

(again, I do not really feel sorry but a bit of drama adds to the setting.)

 ... but your coming night

will be eventually

aroused

with the painful dreams of the broken heart.

Oh I forgot...

Did i tell you what

I decided today

to entertain you about ?

Right!

..

Vivid cartoon.

To E.B.

asked for and dedicated

=When we become only a voice to each other

it is high time we start to look for a plane=

=We can meet at some convergences in time and space...

Will ask the pilot to bring us a.s.a.p. a.c.a.p. =stop

I'm on 28A

Yes,

the wing seat!

The hostess told me

I can maybe

when the weather

permits it

-and after they tie-wrapped the wings-

have a walk over to your flying machine.

If you also feel the need for fresh air

eventually we can

stroll together and consider diving,

and leave behind us the unrest

of broken hearts and lost friendships.

[a hazy view before awakening 

you know that moment when dreams seem to have taken hours]

[a folded body on a board crossing waves on the edge of the skyline]

=writing this last words

on a mechanical typewriter

at a distant beach= stop

=P.S please come over a.s.a.p. a.c.a.p.= STOP

The upper drawer.

Have no clue where to put my

pencils, perforator and

stapler.

I know your answer...

Sure!

it's handy there

...

and it's empty

you're telling me...

Yes!

it is for now

as long my

never send confessions are

in the slide beneath it

and the unpaid bills

one level lower.

My biggest challenge?

Where to put you!?

Where to put

my thoughts, my friendship

my love, my worries,

my

unconditional dedication,

my

unequivocal commitment

for you!?

Imagine for one sec, 

the drawer cabinet...

Will all this fit in the middle drawer

protected by its neighbors?

Or should I consider the last one,

the one I hardly open,

where everything is safely hidden?

I took a decision:

Let's keep the illusion. 

An empty upper drawer,

while it's filled with all those earlier described 

feelings and emotions.

Can't you see them?

Take it out for a moment...

Yes...

it is heavy!

Please make sure not to lose the content,

put it back

slowly,

carefully and close it

properly.

.

Strategy to implement.

Picking up my identity
the one
from the heart
that I lost somewhere
in front of
and behind
oceans.

Free
to love at last
whom I want to love.
Freed from foisted
anxieties
I count the few ones
hitting the road with me.

Knowing their vulnerabilities
Instead of coddle
I will strike and catch those
who were
trying to
demean me.

Spread these words,
message them by all means...

I will bash without compassion
hammer without mercy those
I suspect being  my enemies.
I will salve assiduously
the bruises,
the scrapes,
the wounds of my
declared beloved ones.

As I said
let everyone know.