Apparently Not

I kiss the globe of silence. It is the season of mimes. Our bodies reinvent us.
The thorn tree flowers for the dead. Tangerine sunset flows under the bridge.
Your smile: puppet theatre spinning through space.

In phantasmagoria,cinema of semblances, I strike another lightning, a bargain, a choice.
Transcontinental pollen travels unseen on winds of speech.
Superstition of habit contains me.
Snowy promises are melting, and all is hesitation.
One by one, the tarot cards are laid.
Tribunals in attics and basements reckon the river’s rise,the apple’s fall.
Lying mouth,have you tasted the sweetness of ash?

Silence after anger. A subtle poison distils drop by drop.Grating metal, and blizzards at the poles.
Every moment’s threshold arraigns you. Doubt falls upon you with a thrush’s beak.
Truth rises overhead, stars seen in daytime from the bottom of a well.

Anemophilous mind, what will the next wind bring?
I must walk forever the tightrope between Here and There.

Every day I perjure my essence.

The antipodes are mine.The glass globe whirls with intermingling reflections.

A moment ago, it must have been, I sucked in the insufferably sweet tang of apple juice, cool from the carton.
The mind reclines like a bored sultan amid silken pillows. I extemporize a self from sensation,intuition,contemplation,decision,velleity,
volition,action,absorption,contrition.
“I see,” says the dark sad voice.
Peek-a-boo world, now you see me, now you don’t.

Too much lassitude and misunderstanding.
Life in parenthesis becomes us. All our meanwhiles evaporate in the sky; perhaps they return as rain.
Notes of a slow sad music arabesque on the stave of night.