Thursday, January 17, 2008

Language is a virus.

Contre toute la sagesse, je souhaite que vous ayez été ici, avec votre main sur mon visage.

Je suis heureux que je ne sois pas sage, parce que la douleur est douce dans son affirmation de joie.


So still behind the fire
I poke angry toads before the sky.
Repent! The sin will vanish.
All huge within the dream,
You expel misty keys beyond the trees.
Whoa! The vision will vanish.
Weird and happy on the rain,
We dispel dark diamonds above the shadows.
Be transparent. The birth never ends.
Shadowed hesitant
out of control
an old passport
in whose eyes
the lost man
loses his way
Be watchful. The inspiration will come again.
So sticky among the ground
darkening awake
on the edge of the world,
memories of water
and dreams from which
our neighbours
go without luggage
not knowing why,
unable to stop.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

misty keys

There are times, little one, that I do wish there were details instead of essence here, because I wonder about this man you love (because that you love is obvious to anyone who knows you). Since you don't love often, despite loving always, I wonder at the type of person who expels things that you know are intangible but that you still believe have the ability to unlock.

That said, you shouldn't have rhymed with trees.

January 18, 2008  

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