DreamBefore the last words fade away, I spend a night at the interim of silence and writing. The minimal conceptions inside pearls change into the winding roads of spreading letters, for usually I tend to wear a shield of matter over the tiring maps of abysses that reason sews together.Dream5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Before the winds finally lay me to rest, I breathe a cloud upon the mirror. Speaking resonates soothingly in my bones, but words on paper look up at me intently. The creatures know where to lead me, a hand in paw, and they beg me to equip myself. But I have merely flowed here from under the door, a naked heart turned to silver in the flames.
Before the flesh leaves the fireflies of my mind by the riverside and the last memory of pine-trees fades into the night, I try to feel things in the dark. Before the evanescence of purple disperses in the water, I hold them down with a word.
Behind the tall white curtains like an upside-down lily, lies the thousand-walled seed from which the garrisons grow. T
The Story and the Road AheadI ought to take the red-haired girlsThe Story and the Road Ahead6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
and fuzzy-headed youngsters from the hands of the writers
with me into a great house with a lush garden,
where we would talk over a cup of green tea,
and they would stay there for years,
until I become them, until they become me,
the strings are cut,
and the wounds heal.
During the years I understood,
it was not the poppy-colour, the hairdressers', and
of the fears of being just the trembling surface, none were accounted for,
and she was not a goddess, nor a wilted flower, she was
the crossroads between our interlocked arms, and a wild bird
dashing into a flutter in the cold air between us:
those realities mixing with each other we called Being.
And the boy were not a bird though he craved to,
there was no coolness never rooted in the feeling of a warm afternoon sun,
so time after time he had to turn around and wonder:
who it was that walked this journey?
And as the two thought they had met in the house,
as there was a floor and a roof and places fo
The CoreAs the day closes in onto itself like a snail making a shell, twisting the bony substance into a frozen whirlpool of immobility, I write. Holding my antennae high like seeing pearls on the sceptres of a ruler, slowly crawling along the virtuous path of traveling one's belly to the true soil beyond the concrete. A circlet of sharp silver and looped smoke has been closed around my temples, I see sphere-shaped accusations hidden within red lilies no more. There is calming snow on my tongue, making its way like an invisible cascade of sunlight upon water down my throat, coating my spine and turning my ribs into hoary pine needles in a perfect picture.The Core4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Though there is nowhere to go from this pole where I stand like a scarecrow, opening my arms clothed in ragged cloth to embrace the golden field where the heads of wheat nod side by side in someone else's field, I will not despair. I was given no heart, just a patchwork sewn on my chest where one used to be - two-dimensional, a friend to ever
Everything is CloseA blind sorrowful bard, I sit upon one square of floor, a lute in my hand. Like the way I pluck the strings and feel the coarseness of clothing, breathing is the first sign of human that I feel. Sound is that which travels to the blurred edges of the world, into the blue that I have already forgotten. Now the colour is the feel of the water and cold - I still understand.Everything is Close6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I am of the family of night-prowling whiskered ones, a fish lying near to the waterbed, underside in the warm earth. Vibrations travelling along my sides, I have the senses of a wary animal. My heart pounds underneath the glowing skin, in the world of one that nibbles upon seaweed.
Someone is breathing, taking steps, the smell rises from the humid leaves. The wind is whirling. I am the life so easily crushed beneath a hand, a tuft of fur at the roadside.
This is my home, my apartment of a hole dug between the layers of greeting, pointing and talking people. So I could quietly shake an ear while drinking Indian tea. The
The Tree of LifeI went outside and so it happened:The Tree of Life6 years ago in Typographical More Like This
A newborn grass-blade swept me off my feet, wrapped me up in translucent green
and lifted me up to the Sky.
(A new beginning - sweeping off
the dust and trash - you!)
The sea of chicks chirping
on the ground - the time for:
AAAAGH I flew through the clouds, inhaling azure and pollen
Envigorating! Buy a new bag! Then throw it all away!
I had stuffed myself in my own pocket,
a crumpled girl, a kind of scrap -
My heart beating so fast:
now now now solutions solutions
and I twirled through
as the ground was shaking
I let go
in a pond
(the chicks were chirping)