[end of the world]

***

Sometimes
the world is so small
that the end of it all
is a trifle:
don't worry,
it will heal in no time.

---
W.H. suggested:

***

Sometimes
the world is so small
that you bang your head
against the end of the world.

---

apprentice

apprentice

hey, mister unquiet kid!
How come shoes grow on trees?
How come freshly white shirt
and solid trousers grew pastels over the night.
Now monks trouble naked feet
into the smile of autumn's just polished teeth.
Could a potatoes mound get sorted by surprise
And the retreat floor regain its proud face?

***

I build my Moving Pagoda on a solid foundation
of appropriated currents, its pillars are water.
I lay the second floor apprehending the vast
stretch of past that's not yet attached.
I tile the third roof with waterproof tension
so that I can bathe in heavenly bodies.
Relaxed water slinks in through tiled opals
on uncountable legs of a snake.

---
Some imagery from Oseam.

? The Metaphysical Club

The Metaphysical Club

It was supposed to be entertaining.
Torches and all.
Only that friends forgot
and instead the moon plays tricks.
Ouch! a rattling represents
a bike on the ground.
That's why moonlight's called analytic --
sharp edges, flowing depths.
Damn curiosity, or perhaps I was just searching
for my friends --
and I got lost. Dragged into the silent theater.
Plucking up courage to give in.
Flow out of concern.

Sun is green,
and blue, and yellow.
Tall trees invite day from behind the shed
and there is the garden bench.
Bees wake up.
Oatmeal with honey.

[just a comfort poem]

***

shall I call you?
the monads of firelight flicker but a while
and I haven't learnt anything today
shall I tell you...
since I think you know
and since the
here-be-dragons are dyed gunpowder
and the roaming trail is a stain from my
supper-busy fingers

I've cheated on you
-- from the day undone
I bottle an apology
I'll set it in the vastness of my heart
to drift away

so it floats into the fjords
of your sleep sheet

redemption

redemption

I'm sorry for having stolen a glance at you.
I'm sorry for not having stolen a whole
bunch of laughs and trinkets
with a backstory.
A glance and I'm coming back to my senses
a sensual toe to a sensual top
and I'm all senses.
I would give you a gaze
that walks proud of every curve,
scrutinizing the knee and the belly --
where all movements begin.
My arms, shoulders, and hips
established by you.
You lax your shoulders, point your foot.
Chin up a smile, you let a leg behind
pick the notes of the piano.

friend

friend

He might not listen to my silence. I wonder.
I've heard of a couple
living on an island at the edge of the world
talking together for so long
that they now hear each other's heart in advance.
We don't live on an island, rather
we face each other like a storm.
I've heard of trees
with woven roots, branches supporting
wide high sky.
Each man supports many skies
and the pain fetters one into the shelter of self.
I dream of sky
wide and high
I dream of a forest
that breathes the strength of the stars.

thought

thought

It happens sometimes.
I'm dropped out.
I'm me, no, I'm moving
from room to the kitchen.
But I want. I want!
To be connected again.
So I try, I try to spell out your name
my way home should start
by pulling a name.
A name has hooks...
a chair hook, a painting hook, a smile hook
and a grip hook.
I pull by the smile hook
I get the eyes, the upper arm,
and it's moving! It's moving towards me.
I stretch out my arm
and I find relation.
Think! Think, therefore not I.
Thereof I cannot speak.