funeral for a friend

i was just about to say something.

certainly.

i'm sure.

i know what to say.

i had them in my head, definitely.

they were there moments

ago.

let me gather myself.

i know what to say.

all i need is

a few minutes.

then,

you will appreciate

me.

and the words

i'll utter

to the faithful departed.

shit! and a jolly and smelly one! read it!

... then, shall we go for a short ride which you will be testing and tasting the shape of things to come, so that you will know your money’s worth and now that you know it, you will instantly be allowed by yourself to trespass on my territory of dear self and in that self you will stare everywhere, scrutinize my very fibres of being and touching here and there, dissatisfied, running around if there is anything in here and when you find that nothing what will you say, eh? that this young man or old child is just fooling around and his wee bit worries are none of your business and oh these days, these days they are letting everyone to write a blog full of shit that no matter what patience you show them, and no matter how many chances you give them to give you something back to stay with you during the day and especially, night, when you lie down to your bed and fart happily and say that this Passacaglia dude wrote some real shit today but I can’t really recall it, and, sorrily, that does not change the fact that it is still shit and shit stinks ...

reminiscence / recognition / reconciliation

while you were making me sad;
i kept thinking about
the tiny particles
of dust
floating in our living room
visible in the warm rays of sun,
when i was a child
and came home alone.

of course,
it was summer
and late afternoon.

/

be it the particles, or be it the dust;
they reminded me the soleness
of my self, and my
beautiful being in the world.

to something like that,
one can always hold on.

/

still, you can make
some one with a be-
ing,
or one, be-
auty,
sad.

i am sad.

yet, they keep floating in the sun,
i see them.
and they land
on
my
cool
skin.
no one can stop that?
no body.

yes, i remember them.
i always do: the particles
are with me.
here, you see them on my arm?
touch.

god.

i will make you happy now;
no more sadness.

the problem with bearing the light

no, no: it does not make you blind
I assumed, that, for a long time,
no.

so, bear it then, you say?
no way.

why, you ask,
what is the problem then?

that,
you cannot put it down.
yes.

three men at table

a tuesday night in the winter;
I am sitting at a table,
with some men as my guests.
the first one says,
he’ll love me if I kill the third one;
the second one says,
he’ll hate me if I love the first;
the third one says,
he’ll kill me if I hate the second.
what can I do?
they are my friends.
for both spring,
and fall.
I hate them and I love them.
so.
I killed us all.

I guess, that makes not three,
but four.

the thin king

the year was 1900 and I was a king,
a sparse one, with no kingdom left.
so sad, went to a bar,
and started thinking,
not about being a king,
but,
drinking,
and thinking about drinking
more and more;
so that, eventually,
i started to enjoy myself.
why not?
is not the greatest thing
about drinking
thinking about your next pint?

electric verse

bulb, bulb:
why am i still not blind?
on the ground of my room, lying,
for this long,
i should have been that,
blind, bulb, but i am not yet.

yours are my eyes, are they not?
they should have been.
do you not know my devotion?
my, heritage, bulb?
i can see something, i still think, there, no?
yes?

bulb, bulb, bulb!
bulb, bulb, bulb!
stop lingering,
stop the lingering;
think of me, lying,
penetrate my body, vying,

for your great trophy:
the final, tranquil atrophy.
o bulb, i am the son,
and i am the heir.
so let me, then:
will you please kill my ken?

bulb!
bulb?

our mutual city

it is cold in here,
really, so that,
it is inhuman.

persons should not be cold,
but they are here.
really, nearly,
frozen.

but, if he is really willing,
his fairy is waiting,
to warm him,
with her lovely
arms.

really. she is lovely, and beautiful.
beyond comparison.
as is this city.
but not cold,
she is warm,
unlike amsterdam.