"Laß los" - July 2007

...another shade of orange pounds my chest.
it levitates me.

Respect to the trembling ball of light.
You've hung for so long,
You may go to bed so bid farewell one last time.
-
The ground moves; we hear nothing.
Your lips drenched in the rouge of the horizon.
It fools my tired eyes: it's fusing with the sky.
but they will not tell me.
You feel it too.
-
So say
Without the words
that may misguide me
or caress my faith into a false submission of belief.
-
Block out your whispers...
which come every while or so
...for the drone of unidentified voices
threatening to control my attention.
I press my hands to my ears
felt you falling down my face.
-
Your only respone, be it another whiss... per,
does not soothe quite the way you wanted.
My feet gripped to the ground.
skip a beat
I inhale.

...a darker purple pounds my chest
and lifts me into the lighthouse's ray.

The clearest chalk running backwards through my line of sight.
Celebrate the fall of dusk, 'spinning'.
Towering above...
everything else
...every silhouette:
senses.
-
Heavy shores deep inside the nose
serving their master the breeze who
swings the hair from my face
-
they give thanks.
To the faint sounds of crickets.
Turn away from the purple
into the still.
Something is out there.

Celebrate.