It happens in a weird second,
time collapses & expands.
Can’t describe it
for fear of forgetting.
It’s morning, evening, night.

Had a dream carried us away
would we notice?
Or the bad things happen
so we can remain?
It’s a hot second,
then life turns away.

Another day, parked cars on the street.
Another day, everyone hides in their cave.
The bewitching hour
when the land takes a breath,
you feel it,
the cosmic smile.

As I sit on the toilet,
look out into the bedroom,
the fur rug’s sunning,
all curly and golden.
Who’s this creator sheep
that lived and made this?
Then gave it up with its hide besides?
Did it enjoy the sun while it grazed?
Was it ok with getting killed for meat?
Did it father any lambs?
Or was it milked many times?
How old was it when it’s led
to the place & had a bad day?

The rug was rained on yesterday.
Now it smelled like wet hay.
I don’t know you while you lived,
but I’m enjoying you nevertheless,
of your warmth & soft caress.
You probably don’t care,
I’m saying a little prayer.
Something comforting comes out of
someone being slaughtered.
It’s someone else’s life,
there’s only the fur that’s left.
It’s useful & has a price,
guess that’s all we can get.

Tell me a story,
give me a mood.
Hold me to sway.
Forget the world.

It’s not an intoxication,
it’s from the sea inside.
Want to know its origin?
Just look into my eyes.

Don’t need no sympathies,
just give me a baseline.
It may rise, it may fall,
we will see how it goes.

Familiar like a heartbeat,
novel like a suicide,
paint with ashes & fire,
cause ain’t nobody cares.

What are you saying now?
We can just stop?
The cloths can come off?
We can all be comfortable?

A woman of many needs,
at the right dosage & speed.
Can’t say I won’t leave.
Be more interesting & we shall see.

It’s molasses.
It’s rolling around.
Getting bigger & bigger.
It’s growing wild.

Give it a little breath,
and it comes alive,
with everybody inside,
all along for the ride.

I don’t like the texture.
I don’t like the taste.
It’s not I can’t love.
I can’t afford the glaze.

Do I wait around?
Do I run away?
Something else’s got me.
I might be a nutcase.

It’s something to swallow,
just something to digest.
Fire up the engines.
Are you food or friend?

Hello, molasses,
you’ve come a long way.
Are they easy to contain?
Still shitting saints?

Looking at the world upside down,
the sky’s pressing me into the ground.
Floating in an ocean of colors & sounds,
nothing matters, I’m free as a song.

Sail with me, with earth at the back.
Sail with me, with trees hanging on.
Sail with me, the cars are like magnets.
Sail with me, sail with me, upside down.

Every evening I say goodbye.
How many times? To the day, then to the night.
Can’t remember even a single one.
A residue of some impression of some sentiment.

It’s time like this I have to escape,
propelled by the resentiment of a lazy satisfaction.
Why do I feel tired just to return?
The trash’s still outside, the same couple just passed by.

If the view’s ocean’s end, or the martian soil,
will I still feel the need to pollute paper with my bile?
I may still pity myself just to see if I’m capable.
A drop in the ocean of inert particles.

It’s not blue, it’s gray & white & colorless.
The oppressiveness is felt through the closed window.
Artificial breeze bellows for the creatures inside,
who are cut off, sequestered, cornered & comfortable.

The summer’s cooking something rotten.
Pop the lid, bear the smell & the sight of the skeletons.
The water rises, the sun bakes, pay no attention.
Don’t worry, be happy, nothing ever really happens.