when the time comes

so what i didn't carefully see the face
of the nude descending the staircase
or observe with enchanted eyes
the fair matron gioconda
for me is the dame with the one naked breast
leading the charge on bastille
in the powder and the din
and frenzy of fighting
she was lost when
the dust had settled and
the fires were put out
and now i seek mutinies
insurrections rebellion
wherever she will be
at the head of restless crowds
pouring out of narrow lanes
onto the citadel
drunk on empty stomachs
where spirit is the end of flesh
and love is arson
      

d welcome back smsese split second time

ive fallen in love
ive forgotten ive
passed out
the glass i drank from
is not the one
in pieces around me
what illusion is this
my dream isnt shattered
dont tell me it is
the age isnt over
if you cant handle time
let it kill you
may you die in peace

born vita

my friends please come
to the pit with sand
in your hands bring your
children too and your parents
shed a tear or two
i am done with crying
the loss of heart
is suicide the end of
illusion time


understanding fellow
alas not what you
think he was
who are you
i am he but
he doesnt understand


i have returned from
the city of my childhood
left my cradle went back and
left again after having arrived
with arresting thoughts
on the nature of the returnee
the vacationer if you may
leaving relieved to find no shackles
cutting through the tendons
feeling freedom in the breadth
of the ocean like a crusoe
reconciled to his loneliness
objectively a shipwreck
struggling only
for a personal tale
of loss and renaissance
so desperately not
a story worth telling
forgetting is such a big part
of what i do


tired with mere
obsessing with the fallout
of petty crimes
moral and eventual
all recoverable
but what if they are
that is not the question
here despite the scorn
for jumping the signal
a fly by night
asleep on the journey
escaping as much
the punishment as the crime