The trumpet

The grand delusion peeling off his eyes
As he walks the men to his side smirk
and his megalomaniac tick thoughts fall
jump and cling to the trouser legs of his security detail

Nostradamus blows his nose
and cleans it on Da Vinci's mantle
The grand delusion still hangs from his face
marring the oval office

Young men, fresh out of ideas

So the old stench of the rule books, well trodden roads and comfort zones
"supposed to" monotony shipping in from "has been" horizons
"What do we dream" I hear them desperately think
and I have the very medicine yet they haven´t learned to drink

And the way benchwarmer´s eyes square them up measuring them at wrong angles
judging lack of diligence and how they´re excessively dangerous

Led by the busy obligatory safety consult pop wise-check
collective opinion reliever
The pressure and weight on their fresh ideas
Not ready to be givers nor receivers

They guess who they are and what it´s all about before curiosity dries
But the answers come with a pile of hand me down lies
NO HELP from the Jung brand 3rd to 4th phase indoctrinated convention praisers
close to their predictable midlife disturbances and well into child raising

No the generation gap is just too far for the limited resources
of those unquestioning pre retirement work horses
So the bridge is never finished and half of the wisdom
falls into the drink, another fail on a real life quiz done

Different plots in the garden

Part of the wheel barrow must be divided
yet still stay whole
No sense in pushing it in two directions
both sides of your head baldness running down the middle

of men like us

Here´s a hotel, here´s a garden
what´s left to contemplate
No sense in getting lost in thought
mad tears your worst enemy

falling from eyes stuck in our concrete heads

We could share the spider
You take four
and I´ll take the other four
we´ll split it somewhere above the abdomen

Fangs and all my friend

Because part of the wheel barrow needs to be shared
and there´s enough room for material dreams
in ticket stamps you may collect before the bucket bounces
But leave enough room for the compost

Because we´ll both be in the ground, life at the bottom is rough
Death is no more than a fancy epitaph

Death's season

He points on toward the men huddled in the shack shadows
He growls like a supple huge predatory cat
The flames from the trash can are down to ankle height
and the wind seems to be enslaved by this intruder

It seems the cheap talk of the wall lovers made them feel safe
safety no truer than a lie each man a baker' s pastry
The fires down to an inch and the snow curls in
like the hair and way of the modest maiden

Yet so does the unfeeling and faces pale and cold look to where the ice falls
Their liquor bottles empty and their arms folded to bargain with the cold
Their heads bobbing up and down and their nervous pacing
emergency room pacing and up to their pale faces they go again

Have we any air left in our lungs
any blood left in our veins
for it points at us accusingly
We the broken, seeking shelter from the rain

Yet it buries itself under the awning among us
and slowly nibbles on us when we are not looking
not feeling and suddenly we are unconscious
it points to us with a pledge we take with dread

Rush on death- behind your eyes

OHHH I hear it howling
and washing down the spine near midnight nye
I know it from the shrill bark in the night mut
OOhh I hear it with the passing car

And in it comes the sword itself
Merciless and swift as clean as acid
it mocks us all and pushes us out of the way
as if we were the same insects we squash by day

The same animals we kill and cast astray
OoOh it never leaves us and keeps a fine eye on us
Each one of us a prize each one of us dies
And it's slow groan covering it's laughter moves through us like thunder

It is the joke that laughed as hard as the concrete a hundred meters down, mortality's swell
and waiting invisible lips and teeth for breakfast, us landing, it chanting like a spell
Waiting for the blood slip, wanting our injury to end us all the same
regular cup of our vitality or whatever remains

Wanting us deeply extinguished
off with disgust, it alive in the rust, it at fest in cancer
this position toward the end, toward too late too mend
old skin old skin, we will never let go and whatever still boiled in our minds
will nail us when it finds us in the afterlife, somehow unjust, somehow unkind

Behind the mirror this hiding phantom, hark
More painful than Hell's anthem
Crush!
It's gone from us and all there is, is only used skin
all there is, is the old carcass, signs of our former selves

Donkeys, we dance around the subject
and pretend we won't be next, no vice to reject
Donkeys, our ambitions don't reach much beyond regression
and invite it in with every habit it convinces us to treasure

OOhh you'll one day know the coldest darkness
exempt of any light, completely swollen and bones bathed in ice
Just a lump once a moving human whose ways and whims would suffice
It doesn't ever bargain and if it did we'd never afford the price

No medicine on moon land boardwalk

Each day comes with a sunrise and an alarm clock
Before you think underwear and socks
and straight off into whatever direction you've created
No eyes for the poor no hands for the falling

Just a moment as you feel the day's friction and want a swig
Just a quick toke oh you long for a drag
And the day has grown empty like a series of them over time
some convenient narcotic no one could call it a crime

Lets pretend in some James Bond way
Heavy hitting negotiator talk on talk on the play
Denying the reality of these half hidden addictions
that pop up anytime the day starts to collect friction

What would you be without a racehorse after the finish line
Down on your high dreams of grandeur you feel it's time
A calming sedative some condemn and others praise
You know the part of yourself that secret little crazy

Grin as the lovely smoky nonsense tickles you into avoidance
Why did you beat down that boy inside yourself as if he was your prudence
Never admitting that some corpse of a spirit still longs to wake
But you'll keep it dead just for god's sake

Facing those things would be as scary as confronting any malicious demon
Suddenly upright in your fancy little trance screaming
Waking from your spinning mind that almost catches a drop of joy from each rotation
But all true happiness has picked up and made for some other port's immigration

Bloodshot eyes, aches and irritations that have been well neglected
Still a straight face when you swear there's not a single regret

How they teach you

They teach us things we never thought we'd have to know
Like how to think fast mostly and sometimes respond slowly
We never see out of everyday the hum, the many gifts they bestow
So precious in nature yet nameless, shapeless, formless.

Sometimes they don't even know they're teaching you
That's when they teach you best
and the many conflicts that seem so useless
actually carry you somewhere you really want to go
but you never knew could use that place to grow

It is said they rub off on you like the hair of a horse
That their personality has a friction on ours and the two course
and the friction awakens or tranquilizes us to many subtle forces
Like how to think fast and respond slowly
and how to take an insult like a compliment without recentment growing
And see this little person and the temper that they're throwing as solo

The finish line

Each edge of that box
assembled to create the shape of death
a human death
a departure from the earth forever

Inside, the lifeless body makes it's argument
in complete silence
convincing us all that the spirit is at peace
That eternal rest has begun

To where he's gone there's no way back
the love of family and friends must pave that road
every round of laughter, every kiss and hug
a paver on his path to glory

His eyes closed tight, mouth pursed
not a hint of life within that skin
Death shaped in that coffin
People spread petals and prayer
and many species of care
But it remains hard to say goodbye

The four candles of his farewell

The four candles
As solemn guardians completely stationary
Tall and attentive at drawing out the darkness
awake and astute to watch all visitors

unflinching and fiel
never flickering
even when the wind attempts to steal
So true and bold

Those four candles where the eyes of god could dwell
monitoring the mourners as they attempted farewells
To the body of a good man who had already folded
The candle flames so symbolic of our own souls

I tell you the wicks didn't shrink short on that cold day
neither did the wax fall precociously as mourners prayed
As if all was balanced and all debts were paid whole
And the last exchanges were loving ones alone

Two palms touch

It's one of those columns grey and pinstriped
Pale and desperate yet exuding a certain grace
with deeper lines than an old man's face

bulging sections to one single umbrella canopy
Glistening and rustling frond leaves jumping, galloping
inviting the tricky breeze up for a cup of tangle

Just a stones throw from a local jungle
and along the frond where parrots dare
Is where the sun puts in most of it's care
Is where two palms touch to make a prayer

Along the lake of a mind

Share a piece of your fond recollections verbally
And when you are done cut your ears off eloquently
The world can only have so many ideas you without the pencil
I wonder if you can invite the world with a voice so ungentle

Spill your memories, the most whimsical and absurd
Give us more and more reason to acquire each word
Devlish exaggeration more than a tall story ought
And I´ll bring friends whose opinions are easily bought

take a secret or a piece of gossip someone hides
fold it into a paper swan that´ll glide
run it along the lake inside loved one´s mind
Then set it on fire so no one else ever finds it

The one spark may fall, just one
like a vulture hurled to the ground by a hawk
Unable to ignite the paper swan
And it may unfold into a blank piece of paper

Peace becomes the victory in that mind

A pool of it

It's the town museum

It's my mansion,

The paintings have been encased in glass and set into the floor

The shallow indoor pool

And the indoor leopard who kills any intruder


The jewels are set into the walls

Reflecting the sunshine outside

There is no place on earth

whose floor tiles smile as much as these do



The pacing leopard my security system

It's no run down town museum

it's my home humid and ferocious

It's a blessing pools of it

Wink and grin(smitten)

I wonder where you are, fair one with brown skin
Somewhere in my life
Playing your role as my wife
Waiting up for me as I do for you

If I make it to Friday we can snuggle
But each day takes a swing
and honestly the only thing
keeping me fighting them is you

Your wink and grin my darling
a few sparks for the gasoline in my gut
So my arms for you are never shut
and that for you I ever stay willing

I wonder where you are
In such an eccentric city as this
during the long days kissless
I wonder fair one with narrow curls

How much do you long for my way
as I stand there looking at you from the doorway
Dim light surrounding me as I choose you for another night
Your neat alluring modesty curves just right

Fair one of brown skin
Oh how often I feel smitten

( For Maira)

Irony on the hook

Out in the sunlight
ready for the excitement
Everyone is leaving
Everyone is running for the exits

When you return, open the curtains
count the days away
simply feel the presence of your loved ones
For the few precious days

You coming back to them
like a fisherman bringing in dinner
Many search for smiles and sunshine
the world over

Pick up a hook, tie it to the line with bait
Until something bites
down there in the darkness
Overdoing things to fill that bag where faith should be

Rock the boat until you become fish food
Irony and agony frequently speak to you
I have become a dock, a pier, a port even
Steady and protective

Lassie survives the apocalipse

The river has almost entirely dried
It is indeed a long ugly wound sun fried
One that spans the length of the land through each town
Like that line of worry off your brow

The rotten clay now exposed
The needy bend and lap water directly from the shallow creek
rags around them to warm them when night is a fridge
The strange dog watches from the ridge

They march on past a thousand abandoned mansions
and try to find an abode less haunted as evening expands
less soup kitchen to the demons and their blood thirsty plights
The chimes of their dinner bells echoing calamity into the night

Scratch a living as the sky is now where morning swims
As the strange dog steadily picks his first victims
Blood to satiate a thirst so deep it brings on repugnant groans
Why, they don't question the fall of one of their own

As the unfortunate person is taken to the ground
devoured by this outlandish strange hound
They just look on as if they won't be the next feast
and the howling demons scream for a piece

Yet the hound won't share the carcass
And taunts the unholy in the darkness
and the demons cry bitterly as the smell of the blood
sends them into contorted fits while the dog smiles blissfully

Modern wicca's market

All the witch doctors are conspiring against me
Their ghost threads and offerings mix into my psyche
No they don't know the weight of the beaten track
and the poor souls who spent their penny
trying to bring me into their lives

The tables full of herbs and roots and spells of attack
Not single a incantation distracts me from the track
And even as I'm checking out of this supermarket world
I deny them the change but never the goodbye
over the counter desperation in her eyes

As if we owe some obedience like a royal garter
But not a piece of anyone can be bartered
This world is not a convenient transaction
You insist your credit buys magical spells quick reactions
There are no formulas you can adhere to free yourself
or at the end of it all renew your health

Have a blasphemy on the house

Out of the forest of hairy plants
shadowy voyage some promises of color
of peace of many exciting feelings
In their skeletons they don't feel the hollowness

For every opiate they consume keeps the emptiness far away
The main addiction is the childish notion that no connection exists
That life is here like a supermarket
Between the products you get your gram of joy

And tell us we who yearn for the unseen are lost
condemn us like you condemn the fanatics and their flags
And like a kid at Christmas your faces lights up
acquiring with empty hearts like machines

hungering for control
hungering for a spark of power
but the system owns you
all that is missing is your bar codes

In your little distant paradise
Where the horrors of the world don't come close
Until the earth shakes you
I pray it doesn't kill you, but I hope it wakes you

Pilgrimage to the sun

The afternoon clinic was temptation
A lost boy walking toward the dusk
walking right in with screaming shoulders
blessed as much as cursed no fussed

The ruby cutting lines of the horizon's clouds
The ushering finger of the god he doesn't know
I see him from the clinic window
making his way like a desperate pilgrim on the road

The doctor says she needs her drill
But all I want to do wish the boy a farewell
Streets dimming down in blues
I'm cured and the doctor is subdued

Boy keeps on trudging near the gutter of the road
that goes directly into the last traces of the sun
neither blessed nor cursed
Just a millennium from greeting unknown god

fascinated by the last rays of that old sun
the one that warmed the clinic through it's huge window
That warmed me, the observer, the spectator
of that helpless soul who makes his way seemingly in vain

The school of light and shadow

No one could turn on the lights
every corner of the school in shadow
Every empty desk a fright
Every darkness getting in through the windows

The blackout brought on a search for light
A search for wisdom
In these empty spaces the only instinct is to fight
and be healed in some sun down clinic

Just to wake
just to wake to the one true love
see through the card tricks of the devil
as he dangles destiny's events like some baby's swinging mobile

Then the very resistance renders a man possessed
The itchy smile he tries to shake off like a pest
just takes his over face
Only by a good wife's faith and grace
can those illusions subside

Playtime´s over for the restless

It flies freely over the city
Nothing has been freer than this entity

Yet nothing more alone
nothing more invisible
No color nor tone
solitary, invincible

Suddenly stuttering and grinding against the wind
as if god had grabbed it´s tail for sinning
Every cloud nearby shook and growled
And the world paused a heavy drowsy pause

Gobble the world up

I'd like to taste the meadow
for what it's worth lick it up with my concrete tongue
A thousand sales men will be buried here
Each grave a neon light
A ray of false hope

I'd like nothing more than to devour the polar ice
With coke, Texaco and a few descent gun companies
We could melt that motherfucker down and flood Holland
Don't you think we want that party first?
Rock and roll and luxury excess

I'd like to breathe my toxic breath all over the city
until sweet cancer reigns in every single lung
The line on the graph says buy
like the smell of a fresh strawberry pie
The line on the graph says sell
The company can go to hell

I wanna see that polar bear drown and eat red meat
until they burn the last tree for pasture
until that last river is a trickle of greasy sludge
So I can bathe in malls and tan in hydroponic centers
convert the oceans salt water to fresh and sell it
overpriced to the dilapidated slum folk