Correct sentences and incorrect ones. The correct ones become the incorrect ones. Good is bad. You caught a dark sun and put it in your hat. You keep a monster. Dark arms fall unto your face. They beat us. We die.
Our tears are useless. Even the salt from our tears, you don’t want it. Your blood of self-righteous anger against our blood of despair. Children under your feet.
Dirt in that thing you call your heart. Spiders of evil words thrown at us to cheat the world. Flags to strangle us. We’ve never seen a snow flake. We can’t go anywhere. Little brown birds have more freedom than us. Water running away from your holy body holes has more freedom than us.
Do not search here for a sentence that means a thing to you. You do not understand. You are beyond the ordinary understanding of space and time. You look at me just as a possible gift of smoke for your ancient Blue Sky god. Your father is still hungry?
I spit up in the air.
We should be asleep. Our mind is gone after our sleep. We fall apart, the broken robot beings of your weak imagination. My thoughts mean nothing to you. My cries do not reach your ears. You say four hundred, after I’ve said one—twenty over the years.
Your tongue has grown heavy with lies. Now your shoulders hate you. Your feet will soon refuse to obey you. Blue Sky god is thinking: “What’s the problem with these folks?”
What is wrong? It does not matter. Just sell me the means and I will show you how right I am. Before the year ends (in a few hours from now) everybody close their eyes. There will be no surprise, no cry of you, no nothing, just people.
::: ::: :::
Picture: There is no picture
Posts
"Little brown birds have more freedom than us" - but they too are confined to remaining little brown birds with a flying range defined by their food source.
ReplyDelete.
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Saturn Sends Symbols
All around and up and down
nothing, other than sky
of blues and black, humming
like an Aeolian Harp
strummed by an uneven wind
and in it, suspended
an empty wine bottle
with the top knocked off,
as if prepared for an alley fight
- the razor edges
glinting in a light of their own
to warn all mankind held inside,
born within the laws of glass,
not to climb out of his fate:
the blood streaming from his hands
is to turn him back from the fall
which would end his life in a brief flare
of sparks and being absorbed
by a sky of blues and black, humming
like an Aeolian Harp
strummed by an uneven wind.
lois.e.hunter
And so here we come into 2009. Happy New Year. May it be kind to you. Thank you for the past year of your poems and pictures that help us to turn our thoughts this way and that out of our habitual thinking.
Cheery, LoisH
Before the year ends (in a few hours from now) everybody close their eyes...
ReplyDeleteI won't close my eyes on this strange wordl. I will put my traveler bird hat and go searching the road of the four seasons.
I will certainly find some lost iceberg, funny cat in the tree, big fish on the ocean.
I don't mind what I will find...
I be free that all.
Bonne année!