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this fiction of mine laboured tightly in the skull of memories and mysteries worked to the wheel by furies who deal the willing thread in...

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

ride into the sun...that's the fun


ride into the sun…that’s the fun
of someone playing with the dial
the airwaves are filled with laughter
chirps and easier miles per hour

(life’s speed is an abstruse motion
 every second flashes on the charged
 space and cracks the ancient blocks
 dust holds it last
(he who crawls in mud gets enough
 to spit…he may then suspect matter
 ain’t all yet falls prey to its claim

 -it goes something like this…he
 builds sandcastles on the beach…waits
 for the tide to flood it all…gets up
 and happy as he only knows, gets on)
thus you get to palm beach australia
further on awaits you rimini
maybe the red sea –who can tell-
it’s a matter of taste and health
you may know the day’s time and place
though the dial shows you nil…and you
hope for the end of one fine day
when you’ll have to move from zero)
I have waited too for the waves
breaking at the angels’ bid –here

it’s radio gaga- and the barge’s
on the way (the dj insists)
we lay back
the sun has set and the sea roars
the deep dark close to the brain…and
to be sure that this day made any
sense (like a road flying birds songs
or the horizon) we must move on
exactly after midnight with total
volition and at our most leisure


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