​

Gateway

 

Windy words slip out 

 

of the mouth unravelling

 

the mystery of blurred visions

 

mingling like dancing snakes in a basket.

 

The rhythm of reality,

 

always faster than insomnia-

 

a feverish state in the long

 

dark twilight bringing back 

 

memories with magisterial clarity

 

while deleting some other

 

important tiny shifts

 

too quickly frozen in the mind.

 

Strange dreams come later,

 

wide eyes looking through a window

 

into a hypnotic silhouette that waits

 

on the corner of a narrow street.

Relativity

 

Alone, tonight

 

after so many

 

singular things

 

occurred to me,

 

I listen to a touch

 

of foolishness

 

in my breast

 

chuckling laugh

 

in selfish abstraction

 

embraced in a satin robe

 

predestined to be ragged

 

by the impulse of time

 

and the darkness

 

of the road ahead

 

full of dilemmas

 

and further disturbances;

 

all is a dream, they say-

 

even the persistent running

 

of breath through the lungs-

 

a natural, primitive system

 

to edge the blackness

 

of expectant thoughts

 

asleep on a pillow

 

ready to go on to the next 

 

impalpable blossom.