lost in transit

this day and that day and that another day. romantic interludes on a theme, a strain which carries on in the background, loud as a hushed whisper in the silence of the night. today, it feels like the end of a play, the end of a day, when the guests have left, the tables not yet cleared, the chairs in a disarray as my hair, as it should be. echoes of what happened here, still resonate and make my toes curl but i mean now it's done and now the show is playing in another town, on another stage as we all move on to a differnt place, with somebody else taking our place.

maybe i am not i any longer, surely so it seems. i walk long empty corridors in my mind and they stretch forever, a maze but then as all roads lead to rome, the words will someday reach that ancient place where they can be put to rest or so i think for you know and i know that what we think is often just too apparent, just too much punctuation i would say. its not to say, that i should be even saying anything for as much as i can understand, words only get in the way of really knowing anything.

her problem

no aplogies offered from days for silences which choke and strangle. words stuck in her throat, borne of pain, data, data, data...endless ticker. spaced out she watches the plots like far off constellations or are they crows and vultures circling above rotting carrion. waiting for time to pass. if she could study the root system, or the network of arteries and muscle; the mind needs the intricacy of words for the love of its sanity or perhaps intoxication is more suited for skimming the details of such times. as night turns over in sleep, it strains at the seams, the quiet ache, hurts of loneliness, a solitary pain which nobody understands or cares to.

when i nibbled at the sugar laced moon

so let's suppose the moon laid down last night on a bed of roses as the streetlamps chimed the hours, would the broken down words still matter? short sharp pricks of love, as shadows spread on worn down cobbles where tiny wild flowers fill up the spaces. the clouds set sail earlier in the day, white puffy clouds, tripping away and i wish i knew slang in flemish as i searched for vintage postcards, to say, "i am glad i was here today".