Twenty years apart (dedicated to J.B.)
Here I am running again,
crushing the morning with a bleep
on your dark wooden flooring where you fell asleep
My thoughts are sliding down the everyday hill
To catch a train wrapped up in the Monday morning still
Your words are melting all that frozen fear
While warm notes of ‘that was so real’ are resting on my ear
I’d like to let your whisper sit there for a little longer
Until I feel a little bit older, or perhaps
a little bit stronger.
We arrived here twenty years apart but I’ve been fast at catching up my part
Am I just spinning in mid-air dragged by the earth around the sun
Are you forever flowing with the sun, drifting away on that river of dun?
Sometimes I dream I could’ve saved you
It must be that old thing of mine
that saving someone would make all of this fine
And oh, I wish that someone was you
You always turn your head and smile
My hand is reaching out, my breath is sinking in
The water is cold, and your wait is now on hold
I guess it’s you that saved me after all.
The failure's hiss
there in the corner
Your eyelids closed on our future love’s mourner
Alone on that platform,
You walked with the rain into a mundane art form
Hands trembling, lips forgotten within that unfinished kiss
I can already hear the failure’s hiss
My fingers are tap dancing on your hip
Sit down and take another sip
I’d like to hear you sing again
I’d like to be your friend. I do not want to be your friend
The void of you is all that I know how to listen to
I’m looking at those blank notes that wrap me up in a sighing silence
It’s like I hardly know how to write down my own name in defiance
Your eyes. My words.
I scrubbed their meaning off, I let myself begin again
Fears are rushing underwater away from my clumsy pen
Drifting along with that look on your face
looking at my face.
I’d like to be your friend. I do not want to be your friend.
I might just sit there quietly
And let myself be.
Black words dissolved in cups of tea
Just when the milk escapes its agony,
Your lips are folding under a taste of cold
Emotions bite the innocence of the bold
And I keep running round and round
Chasing the ribbon of a cloud.
Black words. They turn into black dots,
I wish they were some beauty spots.
Black words. They curl around your skin
I pick them up and let them in.
And then my mind just dives away
Trying to drown their bittersweet melody away.
I run for days and then I stop
There’s so much black that I forgot,
I left three words outside the game
White love is waiting in the hall of fame.
I watch myself inverted in your words
The light is chasing me through my pinhole life,
Tomorrow sank in today’s afternoon
Wish I could hang onto your love to tell the time.
The long exposure of my crippled thoughts burnt all the words onto my lips
There is no lens to share the drawings of emotions
Look there. There, I abandoned it next to my bag of rotting dreams.
“Now” is just “Me” distorted,
A black and white echo of colours bruising the veins of a quietly tormented mind.
Don’t look for me.
I found a shelter on a paper boat,
I’m sailing through the silent void of fear that shouts at me from every page,
I am a scribbler tangled in my clumsiness,
Would words fill in that sea of an unknown me?
My life keeps dancing with that stream of light
But I’m afraid to search for its reflection
As all I see is one odd self-portrait
Of all those other haunting selves...except MYSELF.
Those twenty-three seconds
Behind the tale of whispered dreams
Where colours clash and breathe together,
I used to bounce on clouds of edgy fears,
Then melt my words in those twenty-three seconds.
And I’ve been somehow chasing all those dreams
You say you never have,
Trying to meet your halfway smile
And kiss your thoughts good night.
Today I’m counting twenty-three
Having your arms floating around me
And you are drawing sounds of gold
Putting away my nights of cold.
Your smile keeps searching for the corners of my lips
While watching my ballet in barefoot dreams
But that’s a world you’ll never know,
It’s just as loose as an illusion’s bow.
‘Good morning’ I will hear you say again
When twenty-three is history
And a thousand worlds just fade away
The way that they did yesterday.
And when you ask me: ‘a cup of tea?’
I feel the dizziness around me.
The dream was soft and high in speed
And we were travelling along,
But now I look at you and smile
As everything that I recall
Is hidden under twenty-three.
The man on the wire
I hear her breathing in the lightness of the unknown pattern
which hovers above her amber dream
like fog in the valley of Saturn.
The mind is playing with a rigid crochet hook,
pulling loops of emotions through other loops of hollow faith.
I hear him.
The man is here. He’s waiting on the wire,
waiting for her to take the first step through anything but fire.
Her thoughts are getting tangled in the songs of yesterdays
with hues of blues and greens diffused in long forgotten maydays.
Through closed eyelids touched by the blue flow of his glance
She feels the vivid colour travelling its way from head to toe
Leaving behind the strange sound of
‘Don’t let me go’.
Now standing straight before his stare at the other end of the wire
She suddenly remembers that silent film scene
they both used to admire.
The strap of the ballet shoe freezes her right foot in dégagé
For what is worth to take the leap and dance..?