reminder

stay off contrivances.

how is it that words attack the soul with all their determination to mean?

stay off words.

Rhymes of Another Summer

music. wind. I think I'm beginning to fall in love with the sounds of the night. and they sound better in the presence of yellow light.

tonight. mass. momentum. levity. action without purpose. crescendo. yet another crescendo. a series of crescendos. and this song will never end.

Galapogos:    here and there                   I try not to mingle

                    a sweet song                     this sweetness with memory

                    hits my ears.                     but that face...                                                        

                                                               

I am a complete aesthete. I see everything in terms of beauty.

twig to twig.

leaf to leaf.

flower to flower.

soul to soul.

we all are

microwaveable elements.

dearest

when music enters soul

flowers fetter

leaves tremble

twigs spin

my young head feels a dizziness

resulting from its own absence.

is it a charm?

no, I don't think so

it's just this state of normalcy

an ordinary moment

that has become all too rare.

dearest.

what does one say when one wants to say all that can be said.

dearest.

                poison. mono.

fingers, gasp for breath

the meaning obtuse

magnified.

the single sorrow of this diverse humanity

this piece of music.

it wasn't created

it came to be.

mania

earth. rooted.

floating. buoyant.

simple. crisp.

fluid

multiple

loneliness

utter solitude

multiple solitudes

when ten digits perform their dance macabre

on the stage of black and white keys.

like the drip, drip of water

and then a dog whining.

bass. low

then high pitched pain

the fingers press out their cries.

one person

two hands

ten fingers

perform a symphony

one person

two ears

so many minds

all grasp the single essence of silence

conveyed.

unified. solid. collective. together. we. us. gathered. whole.

mastered                                                                                naive

innocence                                                                               ignorance

why is naive so appealing to me.

naive as a state

that supersedes innocence.

am I that child smiling

at you when you're playing the piano?

these are the things I see

when I hear the solo.

solo concerto                                                       I am always unaware

solo symphony                                                      of formalities. Readily     
                                                                            Deliberately.

The Colours of Music

            'Comptine d'un autre ete'

purple. yellow. green. red. turquoise.

white.

                                                      maroon (?)                maybe maroon

                                                                                       after all                                               
                                                                                       maybe not.

I cannot move.

I wouldn't put anything past this music.

it's a fountain of whispers.

I could not move.

I'm listening to the amelie song

and the breeze.

my heart is going crazy.

untitled

If it is your eyes that are dissatisfied with my face
Why should I be the one to look away?

The story of your life

So I met the love of my life
And that would have ended as a happy story
Had not the love of his life
Been that other girl
The love of whose life
Was this boy
Who was absolutely certain
He was in love with me.

mutilate

the body is a psychological burden.

sometimes i want to be naked for myself without having to give a fuck about you and you and you and you and you.

A stranger to my style

This morning she gave me a fist
When I asked for a smile.
All day I've been walking with a bruise in my heart.

Poetry doesn't have to be bigger than the thing it contains

I choke within myself, straining to find a voice
that does not want to be heard.
Meaning is a rope tightening around
my neck; a daily strangler.
A little I gasp for breath everyday.
A little I watch myself die everyday.

Whenever I put paper to pen,
Reading my thoughts
Means looking through the paper of my mind
On to the other side
And reading what's written there, backwards.

This page, printed,
Is a blurred, tasteless, memory
of minds full of illegible meaning.

Experimenting with shape

The rectangular mirror
Reveals a form untamed by geometry;
A gurgling shape.

I stare at my eyes.
My eyes draw me
Out as they stare me out
Spilling shapeless over form.

I see my eye.
A single eye with possessions
From both parents,
Deposited in me; temporary safekeepings.

Not my own, my own existence -
Borrowed.

I shift shape between man and woman
Lingering along lines,
Uncertain, certainly not defined.

On silent nights, when sound is a fragile friend
Waiting to exist in its own right,
Is that me, you hear, gurgling into amorphous unity?

'O Clock!

My body goes tick-tock to the 3 A.M. wisdom of night;
A snip-snip sound comes from the sharp scissors of time
as they cut my life into more and more bits of age.

this monotonous life

all night I stared at four
unattractive legs of my three
dimensional chair
to take a break from my
flattened existence within two
dimensional computer screens.