11 July 2011


wasted days spent
wasted in solitude
with stories inside
my head spinning
their way towards
an empty piece of
paper that's never
made impure with
ink in this messed
up reality being so
intangible and lost

scenes of
life never
but silent
echoes in
our abyss
where we
just dwell
and filled
with tales

the label crazy suits those
who stretch reality toward
supporting the tales which
gush somewhere between
all the moist ears attached
to heads varying in shape
and size together with two
sockets for vacant staring
eyes made quite common
by processes of evolution
triggered during cambrian
explosion beginning some
five hundred thirty million
rounds around my sun ago

I know myself to be surfing underneath the surface of the sea
and as you might imagine things look pretty different in here
where one can be reminded of the quiet option of descending
to obscurity by just looking down at the silent lingering mass
of dark blue hue tempting in its promise of existence in a void
of anything resembling the experience around the concepts of
time and space which even I used to accept as the two guiding
principles of life learned from those years I spent on dry land
searching for meaning from all related to tales which felt as if
they were defying those physical laws in their very being like
fossils of dinosaurs or books by long ago dead men or sweet
promises of everlasting love whispered from tender lips with
redness signifying how the life giving flow of blood goes on

My photo
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