the sieve and the sand

Rain falls a miracle
the learned ones green or old wheeze sneeze a drop against my psyche,
the old friend, throbbing incoherent nibbling on the Rorschach test
and I see
lightnings and thunders livening the night
bats and butterflies colorful and dark
music dancing through her
myself eaten up by a spinach quiche.

In my new old apartment, German roaches roam unconquered
some days, I wake up with a few rounded up beneath my belly,
little freeloading bastards,
how about a bottle of red? maybe some pinto beans instead
to cover up the uneasiness born out of our relationship -
my kicking maternal instinct.
But motherhood is a many-splendored thing, for
tomorrow, the little darlings will die.
The Landlady promised.

Tonight, the little one is by the window,
still and fragile
the rain tap dance against the glass
I can taste the metal
How we all fit, big small discontinued
scattered and invisible.
one phone call, the universe’s landlady
nice and demure will send out her control team
and off the pest go. Welcome the spinach!

I was born refined and pure
I was born refused and denied
All in all I was born, memories full
The sun hardened my form, while the moon pulled me round

Do not shake me too hard
deep within, I carry sounds of firing guns, mortars and tanks
loud and heavy.
Give me time to grow up and understand the haste to kill and
the ethnic difference in my thirteen year old body-
wounded and agonizing in the open grave.
Rage and fear squeezes my soul,
dulled and sullied

What to make of all this sorrow? and the night slipping inside me
such as a scabious dog to which stones are thrown
and seeks to die further away in a ditch.

So that war may leave me,
I would have liked to become aerial
run away and float under a sun that wouldn’t blush my cover
But, the void does not color, only the moon that nothing
disgusts shine through the living slum.

When the wind comes and blows the dust off me
the pain will finally be gone
So let us not mourn together anymore
all that will never be,
all that howls breathless and alone through the night.

I am back, such as the unfaithful wife returns after deserting her home,
humble and small
I have gone to sea and come back with my head on my hand
Almost slain, almost loved
I can only confess half of my sins and wish I had sinned more
Both world and home move on and over my dislodged limbs,
expanding in words and invisible shapes.
I confess I resent you half as much as I love you
Having loved only two people in my life, all of you included,
I have certainly returned just as sane.

Let’s look together for the crest of our youth
Helsinki’s crinel, neither green nor gray
dancing into the winter’s wind.
Our parched skins seeking barmaids and wine carafes
cheap and full.
Nailed to the bar, we consummed our moons
whirling in the night.
Shattered and lost among the familiar alleys
we jumped on the wet pavements
dredging for gold.

You walk past the solid lines, saying
‘Come what may.’
So, when the universe cuts us into puzzle pieces
Don’t go around asking for the bigger picture.

When darkness unfolds and tidies up the sky
only few dead stars will be left shining
So, don’t go around asking yourself,
’wasn’t I born exactly like the best of them ?’

There maybe something greater at work
Something bigger than our bond
Something loveless and eternal feeding on our
Disillusionment.

Careful as you go
Life runs unequal and dissonant across this street
the sky falls quietly on a skid row
taking ill-luck in its stride.

There is a beautiful land

small and poor

being alive there was such a miracle

staying alive pure magic.

Sorrow and hope were for free

A little blue bird grew up, flew away

Only in dreams does it wander back

to the broken hills.

Clouds of familiar faces comes a rollin’

soundlessly, endlessly in a black and white scenes

Don’t let them shake the bird of that tree

Even if the glory of dawn comes and goes

the fruit, unripe and sour, longs for more light

Walking through each other’s dreams,

The tattered streets will let you know I was there

first

No matter how hard he tries

He cannot see himself as real as you do you

You and your pure mornings

The heavens will not call out for you

Do you think crows dream about the color of their feathers ?

The immigrant’s dream sits on your front porch

hopeful

Your smile brings tidings of a victory

for a moment he feels like he can bask in the glow of

your sweet delusions

Like a sudden powerful jolt

he feels his youth

millions of little fireworks shooting through his veins

all his tomorrows pigmented with soft pastels

He would like to stay there with you

but, it is only a beautiful lie

Let me tell you
I always keep one foot on the outside
I hate crowds, teams, groups and constellations
What the hell is the cosmos?
More than 2 people together, it’s a conspiracy,
it’s a fracken world order.
Where is my earthly exit?

I know where the bees go
when the honey gets too much
( after all, the queen will always have her nectar)
They are exactly like him, in all the wrong way,
moving in a pack, following lead.
Sometimes, he shakes his head maybe hoping
to fill the gap between my teeth, and I wonder what if
I had been a one-of-the-guys sort of gal.
Would I be … ?
Hell, two people can become a crowd or a dead end
Yet I somehow bet it all on the three-legged horse relationship
I striked big: the fusion of two souls never to be apart,etc…
an instant, a page drawn out of the book of some dead poet

Now having been a butterfly,
I have to turn back into a catterpillar.
and this time, unlike the bees, I will not stray from my flight path
Exactly like him, I will entice/buy/steal a soul for less, strip it into little parts
and sell them for more;
My love will be entirely capitalistic
I will join the crowd so I can better feed on them
I will wriggle my green caterpillar bottom at the top of the food chain,
and you, my love, I will show you spite and rage
I’ll show you how it feels to walk alone in the dark

At the end of the tunnel, the winter’s wind threatens

But he has done everything as planned

excellent grades/wife/house/kids

he has done everything on time

and in order.

The sky can sink and disappear

Him, he has done everything as planned

If the sun shines today,

it’s out of rivalry with the one

who learned how to become his own best ally.

But at the horizon,

the winter’s wind hurls in its furrows

a golden scythe which moves to cut

the tall rigid grasses at the end of their season.

His uprooted and fragmented existence quietly goes

into hiding between the empty rows of a library,

the blank space between words in the book of the living

forever dwelling there till it doesn’t matter anymore.

2 pigs, 4 cows and 12 chickens sacrificed for me to send this message, “I’ve been captured by savages(stop) I do not have access to a computer(stop) Do not send Chuck Norris to the rescue (stop) hope to be back soon(stop)”