Everything is contained in your desire

of vary even heroes kneel

things I see in blisters and wrinkles

those with smooth skin, rest among first.


heavy is a sword, feather and child

when to raise all this you have but a day

with tears of fear and tremble in chest

a hero emerges and burned skin sheds.


In pristine, whiteness, illuminated cage

a boneless mollusk  has got no hand

to clean filthy thoughts, swipe dust from tools,

give flow to moves.


But what if you find out that you have never been flogged,

and are not worthy of new clothes,

that winds of change avoid you,

that you are tiny, nothing.


There in a corner of an America,

safe but green, numb while with large eyes you perceive.



Those Who Watch Me

If I have turned this light on unwittingly,

and so uncovered night and things gone with it,

I would give up some branches from my own tree

to realize how to summon light again, when it is dimmed.


I walk trough water and rush as fast as I can,

I know I run to an opaque sign.

All the rainbows have broken at the skin of water,

I don’t swim, but move with only familiar steps

and so leave a path behind myself.


I will never dream the same dreams again,

nor will I find new roads,

nor will I walk trough new woods and over fresh branches.

My path is eternally clean and in front of my toes,

But people from afar, think I don’t move at all.