alone self in space

connection

believe me or do not. The raw is that which has rendered me the mantic of the body's instinct to fly, sorry, to soar. why an excuse.

tis' not it is, tis' the sound of the drum that whispers my power demonizing the effort

to be normal, out of the wild into the comfortable...

I am comfortable in the hesitance of sole or soul attitude

no named, abandonded born exile, born misunderstood beautiful or nurtured shadowed away

for better or for loss I am in myself to endorse or embody that portrait

my poor trait of loving, loving the comma and the period of the trance

when I am entirely lost

in my own DEAL, I deal the universe.

Re0turning

Coo-
If you want to nest in the niche your song plays you have to learn not to want the rest. When everybody is not I shall be futuring my existence by quitting smoking.

Some Saturday ago I went off the road, it is true. An actual fact the policeman wrote down in the report.
I told him it was not my fault, something else pushed my Mini off on the grey bars of the cliff and someone danced my soul around before I pulled the hand break.

You see I might speed and might not drive when I should but I refuse to fall off a cliff.

And miracles do not happen anymore they say. We are all blind I say.

I danced with anger on the opposite side of the road and it so happened no car sped down that turn. Fusion and fuss of my broken wheel. She is lurking, not when I see a cigarette but when it is not there to tell me it is okay.

I had a minuscule white choke friend who-who smoked my fears away. I thought I would let it go

but then my mouth breaks down in inarticulate blazes of non-smoke.

You were born without it.He tells me. I hate being told more than quitting.

I was born without much. I inherited everything and the blurr of smoke tattooed itself on the aura of my existence.

Now, I am drowning the smoke in the Aegean sea of non-hope.

I gather my little fingers and shall draw my dreams of blue abroad.

Πουθενά

Εδώ δεν πρόκειται να επέλθει

η πυρά δεν κατασταλάζει πέρα
απο το θρόισμα των κυμάτων

Πέταξε μακριά η ελπίδα για αυτό
που δεν θα έπρεπε να γίνει

ευτυχώς ευτυχώς ο τοίχος στάθηκε μπροστά
και με κράτησε πίσω όπου ήσουν δίπλα μου

γελώντας με τους νικητές που γιόρταζαν τις ήττες
τους μιλώντας σε γλώσσα ξένη, για φέρετρα και απάτες

ξεχνώντας να θυμηθούν η δική τους τι τους λέει η ίδια η γλώσσα

Δεν πειράζει γιατί η αλήθεια μου δεν διστάζει να υπάρχει
στα σκοτεινά εκεί στην ανάμνηση που ανάβει
μόνο στην καρδιά που γνωρίζει να αναγνωρίζει

την απέραντη θάλασσα.

words come back

I realized my voice became a crystal Speaking to eyes
I was unpeeling an orange to emit its juice as if
the eyes would realize I was opening a window3
For them into a corridor, they started walking
a balance Of symbols they could use to lead them to
the breeze rocking your boat, float, caress your face

when scared to be alone on your boat do not .
What turns the secret sea into a crystal? My voice into
My heart becoming lost, its balance has a fortune that
can salt water and grow a fruit like an orange.
There is no going back when you walk into that corridor.
Especially when you stare at every window

which is closed. You have a window I told you
within you if only my boat you board
walk scary a corridor It is not that down
When you hold my crystal offers you my finger
dark blue Within me orange is it your touch ?
It is colour. You see the balance is loneliness needs its reason

Of colouring, when the balance is alone it has no colours
Out of which it can be a difference, what they are is a window
To being what they are distinct, together, many of them are orange
When they fall asleep in imagination they paint their boat
Carrying the psyche of their being a balance before it becomes a crystal
I wonder then where to one must walk when there is no corridor?

dark You imagine it. A long corridor is like a narrow pathway.
Only not. Close Hold me. Your balance will you have found
By the time you change the crystal of my coloured
human on the boat
It is just how words can fool you
when you do not look out of their window
If you do, you will find that this word
can be part of your story orange

make it orange though the time is up to you to make it
you do not need to walk down a corridor if you like
Fly instead without worrying about the boat
So long as you hover you will be in balance
pull the blinds and transfer my window
Look out, look out of the window, there is the crystal

Of my words on the boat painted orange
Like my own crystal shining down the corridor
Of your balance now look, look out of your window.