sorrow

...

a

white
paper
looks
at
me,
thinking
of
genocide
and
armchairs
of
a
piercing
blue

...

bitch

...

the bitch,

page,
senseless,
deep ditch,
road,
hitch-hiker,
see far,
go further

...

new life

...

new life, new words,

old shapes,
a knife,
a stab of cold air,
creating tunnels of unimaginary beauty,
locks the door to my heart,
seals it shut

seeds,
sprinkled at random,
found growing, lodged in strange places,
my kitchen of sorrow,
water,
where it shouldn't be, a farewell to past ordeals,
i forget, and then i die,
in denial

cut off from,
and drained of roads, aiming anywhere,
a soldier blinded by too many choices, returns with a language robbed of its pictures,
an alphabet all shot to pieces, but not dead,
not dead, but transmogrified, and hopelessly alive,
still retaining a beauty fading in and out of focus,
creating new words,
new life

nothing,
the inside searching for its outside,
for a key of possibilities, that could recreate an environment where a lock could take shape,
its material still only the mirage of a thought, yet something actual to cling to,
a faint scent insisting to be noticed,
forcing an answer from the mirror of unrecognition
- that scar, 'tis you

...