Weariness leaves you | stranded in an | inland ocean | Nothing left | to cling to | but the waves | You tumble into a bottle | Memories | make the butterflies fall still and then | rise again | All your life now is swimmers | who set out from the shore | and…

Yes, but the crocodile and the power of its jaws… | And the speed of the meteor | the equation for drag || But one day, none of the facts are home | when you call | and the breeze in the | deserted garden | is quite inhuman | and beautiful || All your thoughts | flutter | their glamour is passing | but the truth is ether | and every stillness is lost || Who were they, anyway, those souls | drawn to the edge of your heart’s ocean | gazing in? | And lit those breakers with their doubt? | Don’t they understand, it is late, the names have failed, every metal | is fatigued: can’t they see, you must sleep and that | is all there is to it?

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)

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