Nothing Is Taken

Nothing is taken

lightly. Nothing is taken

all seriously.

Word

the only way to reach balance is 

to weigh nothing

Let Go

I don’t know how to let go.

An ocean behind,

as far as I can see is

what lies ahead –

Stars... 

they guarantee nothing.

Not even their own light.

Sublimation

In a room for everyone

on a barstool my bones 

connect to muscles and nerves
connected to my skin in these jeans
connected to a leather seat of a chair firmly
connecting the shiny floor to walls stretching to
connect corners with the inside here to the outside there 
while summer-like weather exhales through the door.
The particles blend with each breath of new air
from all lungs and I fall asleep
traveling further and further amongst trees toward the sky
like a patch of fading smoke parting from the tip of a burning incense

into a vast unknown universe and I dream of

a bloody rose bursting into bloom from my open gut.

Daylight on the ledge of a

dream – I make my bed and some pancakes for breakfast.
Doors open to another day in the usual manner, motion and speed,
the water is boiling on the stove. 

I walk into an open suitcase left on the floor,

yawning and stretching, 

the mirror is a reflection of me on an average morning
of just another day.

At the Coffee-shop on a Wednesday

What was that thought that I had ... last night before I went to sleep...

The one I was sure to remember in the morning...

It’s always the same.

Drawing circles in the sand with a stick.

Eccentric circles.

The Witch and the Lion – outside the wardrobe.

Questions.

Sometimes,

there are no questions.

No answers.

Chances are.

There is too much anger!

I want to dance...

There is too much darkness.

I want to dance!

Oh, but the density of silence...

Secrets?

Some people are too fat for

their miniskirts...

Her underwear is actually pink.

That’s great.

A black temple-cat against white walls

suddenly stops, looks around

and looks at me.

Sits for a while, then leaves.

What’s that cat going on about all day long?

It’s too sunny for umbrellas.

I’m hot –

a tarred road on a suffocating day,

heading for a meltdown.

I don’t know what time it is.

Feels like it’s time to go.

I don’t know what the time is.

The Universe provides.

Feels like it’s time for a drive!

I don’t know what Time is.

I can see road-signs.

Never an airbag.




2013 Summer, Wednesday

Corporate Silence

Like a piece of shedding skin,

the scarf around my neck

is a smoky-grey cheetah-impression

of a sewing machine carpe diem

of a woman at fifty cents an hour.

Stitches, and dyes.

Life fell under the harvest moon

where I stood like a tree.

In the sky,

there was nothing but clouds

in a perfect fit.

There was more to it.

There were dogs.

I wished they were wolves

howling at the fiery eyeball

in the bruised billow.

I wished she was as strong as a silent tree.

I wished she could scream like dogs howl.

I wished it right there.

She wanted nothing.

I wanted everything and all the time.

Voices of a choir in my silence,

I wanted a prayer,

a dancing wind,

a muse,

an invisible touch,

Bukowski’s soul,

Thoreau’s mind to find

A thread of thought and time.

I wanted to rest in this illusion.





Published at http://www.counterpunch.org/2014/07/18/romero-and-vongsaravanh/


 

                  

The Challenge

when the moon is craving its own light
when the sun is praying for cloudy skies to hide
when birds are featherless but want to fly
when wet paint dries
when nature is framed for a wall
when saints fuck prophets
when the window is open and everyone watches
when the eyes are shut and see it all
when words are voiceless
when the floor is softest
when a song is on repeat
when paper planes fly and land on a lake
when ice seems thick enough to skate
when the falling snow rushes into a breath
when the knees crack
when time is a desert
when the clock won’t stop
when dust sits on tall wine glasses
when candles burn 

stay in the present

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