Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.
returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
One moment of silence.
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.
Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.
She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.
from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains
Boar: Foolish person / a creature easily tricked. Puer: scarce / timid / aesternus. Puerile: shame / excess humility. Child: kid / tot / ankle-biter. Pipsqueak: cheerful rug rat with wide eyes, as if startled. Little one: sleepless.
with golden threads
death
doesn’t sprawl out on the couch
Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.
returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free
One moment of silence.
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.
from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.
Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.
Boar: Foolish person / a creature easily tricked. Puer: scarce / timid / aesternus. Puerile: shame / excess humility. Child: kid / tot / ankle-biter. Pipsqueak: cheerful rug rat with wide eyes, as if startled. Little one: sleepless.
with golden threads
death
doesn’t sprawl out on the couch
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.
Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.
Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.
but what if she comes one day and you’re gone?
Sipping
swallowing
licking
cup-fraction
where her lips
could
have left behind
a drop.
Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.
“Come on, don’t be like that, let her play with you”
returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free
One moment of silence.
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.
from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains
There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.
but what if she comes one day and you’re gone?
it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.
Boar: Foolish person / a creature easily tricked. Puer: scarce / timid / aesternus. Puerile: shame / excess humility. Child: kid / tot / ankle-biter. Pipsqueak: cheerful rug rat with wide eyes, as if startled. Little one: sleepless.
with golden threads
death
doesn’t sprawl out on the couch
Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.
“Come on, don’t be like that, let her play with you”
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.
Sipping
swallowing
licking
cup-fraction
where her lips
could
have left behind
a drop.
Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.
One moment of silence.
returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.
She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.
Boar: Foolish person / a creature easily tricked. Puer: scarce / timid / aesternus. Puerile: shame / excess humility. Child: kid / tot / ankle-biter. Pipsqueak: cheerful rug rat with wide eyes, as if startled. Little one: sleepless.
with golden threads
death
doesn’t sprawl out on the couch
it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.
One moment of silence.
returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.
from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains
it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.
Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.
returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.
One moment of silence.
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.
Boar: Foolish person / a creature easily tricked. Puer: scarce / timid / aesternus. Puerile: shame / excess humility. Child: kid / tot / ankle-biter. Pipsqueak: cheerful rug rat with wide eyes, as if startled. Little one: sleepless.
from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.
with golden threads
death
doesn’t sprawl out on the couch
visualize the voice of thought.
think the image of the voice.
provoke destiny. play.
from chance, from the sigh.
understand the force that links
the image to the name.
the name is an image.
the image is a verb.
play. nothing is chance.
destiny is a game.
everything is destiny.
—