The knower´s schemes

 These knowers sit high up and speculate downward
Lost in the rocket ship of conjecture
These knowers share titles
But they cannot see the truth

The ground up there is shaky
Not for plebs like me
But for the ill conceived schemes
They live to create

And they come crashing down 
stale meteorites
All the bribes and documents
The trail of unwashed cash

The knowers can´t control
The flow of information
And if the population
were not distracted by religion and football

These knowers would know no longer

Father is a small house

 I am the mover
You are a place
A small manor
a roundhouse
Next to a funeral home

I came to visit you there
Your face was the wall
Told me to be happy
Told me to keep my head up

You are the place
You are the furniture
You are gone
replaced by time and new people
Sinking into the woodwork

I saw your face in the photo
but you are the house itself
Silent and unmoving
Your smile is invisible
But i can see it

Father how long have been dead
And You´ve become a small house old lad
Rather black and white a silhoutte of a place
No eyes nor mouth
Just thick into the walls

Hovering in the corridor air
like a net catching human vibration
 

Lock the river

 I have let the salamanders out
They have too many appendages
The sense of connection in the clearwater river
They swim awkwardly toward me

They look for a way out
We close it all up with big gate
Locking it again and again
with chains and latches

The deep pool parallel to the flow
Where the creatures worships humans as gods
Yet we are not gods we are just strange mistakes
Kind of like you salamanders

Fifty fifty

 God sets it out and this I will be
Forever caught at fifty-fifty

Adventure fades into predictable years
Safety grows heavier with all its fears
He said one won't be better than the other
Maybe he's right, there is no other

The clock keeps spinning, the road keeps grinding
I build and build, but find no finding
The road is a metaphor, but wherever I go
The same dread follows, nowhere fast or slow

Someday I'll settle, the hunger will die
I won't even know when I stopped asking why
The rain comes down, reminding me then
This is life, this is it, again and again

I don't want sadness, I don't want alone
But there is no door, no gilded throne

My leg came off

 My leg came off and started barking orders at me

I attempted to continue my exercise

It was no good

The leg itself had separated

it wasn't bleeding

It was speaking

Telling me I wasn't doing enough

Bending extending and jumping in tantrum

I tried to grab it

It jumped and dodged

A piece of me with it's own mind

Telling me what I should be doing

Attempting to kick me

A small plot in the hills

A kilometer ahead the sun lit up the side of a hill
God bless this land

The narrow shard blesses on this place
scanning over the woodlands

The rolling pastures
God bless this land

I can taste it all
fresh after rain

Split above allow gold to flow on it
To bless it as a good thing on this day

on all days from now on

Poor voyeur

 The roundness
of hips
The swirl
smiling from the waist down

Swinging exhiliration
Sunlight blinding
Telling the world you can´t have this
Substance that gives a headrush

Sweltering from the curb up
Turn your head
peripheral
It´s just a poor street cleaner checking you out