Pumpkin juice.

I.

How about running?
I ran steady elsewhere.

"I can't care when you're careless", I said,
and I ran.
I left with a walking stick and resembling
for once, three-legged ceilings, withered.
With gratitude on beacks of doves, sure.

I thought of Christmas.

"Will it ever arrive?"


II.

Say, is the race over yet?

Tell them it's not over, the race.
See, I wasn't promised anything!
And still I return
with plastic boots and sticky wet clothes, awkwardly.

And I tried, I chatted, I spilled nonsense!
And it wasn't enough Edna, how come?
How am I gonna be able to time with wonder?

I made pumpkin juice

"This will do."



III.


How did it happen?

Well it did.
We were two bottles of Coca-Cola, and moving.

And when the gates were closed we were still moving and boiling cells,
and we were walking for the first time.
Say, we're numbered now. Wired, so, will this ever change?.

"Sure."

I've come a long way, haven't I, Edna?


Today I run again,

ahead.

myself worthwile.

Ouroboros

If you were to break your bones on cold floor tiles,
and I happened
to see
you
doing it,


I would
with U-shaped hands
hold your head, lured albeit pain.

I'd be
truly committed
truly consistent, I would wade
throughout rows of ripe flesh and ripe air,
Calling out.

You, carried, upbeat
Me, carrier. Upbeat.

Will you ever see:

We're both two-timers,
in the morning when we cheat.
And in synch at noon
Nurturing pigeons that have mouths for eyes.

And when I break my bones,
We'll be able to
eat ourselves
in Order to
restore
my
heavy-handed bones.

(If you were to be upholstered,
you would make the greatest sofa.
White and well-to-do)

-

I recognize there are yet better landscapes that meet the eye. Yesterday I focused on a moisty landscape that had trees and musk and water dropping from each leaf and muddy grounds and gloomy clouds and fog and ants marching and cold breeze. It was a matter of minutes before I had forgotten all about the valley, the valley's shallow isn't it?. Soon enough it popped back again and I did turn my eyes on it, for the sake of myself, but for the sake of it, really.

the Drops of Talk

Squeezed out, the drops of talk.
(Black, thick ooze leaking.
Such
bad
omen,
I foreshadow the greatest,
but the greatest
cannot
conceive
the eyes
beholding
parts
outside of the reach)
with each drop
less aware
but wanting:

When you're dried up
and I'm dried up
and they're dried up:
Only then,
I might leave:

Full-bellied bearlike.
And thriving a bit more than yesterday.

Edna, in pain

Edna, move left.
Edna, make sure the house stays clean.
Edna, water the birdbath.
Edna, boil warm milk.
Edna, do the dishes and

do them alright.

Edna, don't be rude now.
the Guests deserve the finest.
Don't forget

to say 'thank you'
and 'your

welcome'.

Look Edna, the milkman's here.
He brought the horse,
oh wait,
this isn't the horse you wanted.
Keep it, Edna.

Edna, let's go down to my uncle's farm, we won't be seen.
we'll watch the cows growl,
we'll attempt to cross the river, we'll fall, Edna.

You'll net butterflies,
I will throw pebbles in the river,

You'll gather flowers,
I will knock apples down.

In three-way glances we'll wander
with the wind afront
and green grass below.
Let your hair loose, Edna.

Let's go to the cliff, now.
We'll sing at the top of our lungs,
and we'll whisper, softly.





Oh, Edna
Lend me peace of mind, Edna, lend me.
Lend me heartsease.

You're evil, Edna.

the Reach

What do I know? :

Papercuts and blisters I swallow, and grainy purple bruises and whatnot, all despite your oblivion towards me but I embrace that!,
I know that diamond well enough by now.

I looked at the landscape, I happened to say:

Who's to say
you're beyond
my reach
of silk
and reach of rough rawness that
ejects
maybe feathers
outwards?


Nevermind the color of auras today, but the ones that were.

the Clouds

See; the Clouds are


stacking up;
and I'm committed, fullbodied.

Aloof: lesser.

For the sake of life, of fun.

Thrive, thrive yourself with seeds that are watered daily, until harvest arrives.

the Blue Room

I wondered without
leaving the corridor,
with wide wind lingering, and
the feeling of everlastingness gone:

What will I be?
when you (wired up) leave on arms of fearless time that
makes me cringe in
anxious
await:

Riped, bitter plum, attempting to thrive
but
lacking
of strength

Sitting
on a table, and
swallowing morsecoded
suggestions
with

candles, melting
delivering
dim light
Turn them over, dear.


With hope left, grief-bottled
I believe you will arrive soon,
the train-tracks are rusty
and the wet dirt
serves
as a connection
with
senses

awakening
the parts
of bones
that
once
were
untold.

Now greet me, greatest.

Sightful on wings fluttering, welfare stable.


on and on and on and


on
now greet me, greatest.

Being swallowed sky

It's safe to say:


you're a pair of Wings in rush, dear!
the ones that soar upwards and crash deeply in wet grass
you cannot fathom my intentions, dear

Long-limbed, with imposing features
and powder - I've pondered (if it's the weapon that lures me)
With seamless joints and Metal Strings I've been rather consumed
Consumed deeply beneath seabottom even, sinking but loving half-way calf-down

Nonsense, but see the woods or the fabrics: they don't compare they're effortless.
Dearest, you never flinch and that is a thrill, with power saved, that awakens the long-buried that yearn breaths, stinging crawling.

Lacking of whatever fills you whole, what is left to do but swing with steel claws, and metal warm leaves.



Expecting one of them to reach you, reach me.

What are the odds?

It happened,
on an auburn day that had sleepless moths and clouds that
(resembled you and me whenever we tackled the "shared")
took care of the earthy haze on the village:

Unlike the surface of the ground you step on, it's safe to say you're made of soft wood.

After the brains made a sweet deal with the body and the body swallowed warm drops within its pores, I promptly marched, leaving the terrible turmoil, (the non-sense) behind.
Eagerly, still slow-paced, towards my new daily routine.

What did I see?

Dust and branches alright, with tasks, like mine. On guard and wanting to start, but thinking they would soon want the day to be over.
Such defensive attitude, such dullness.
Not me not today.

Meanwhile:
what is being offered at the left side of this sidewalk?!
Nothing is being offered and so much is wanted, much like seventy-thousand planes all aiming to land on the same spot. Fire is the result, fire stands for craving and ambition.

It doesn't take much to see that, even a dove is inadvertently defensive, glancing everywhere, groaning sometimes. White wings tell a different tale, however.
You glanced, likely.

(one, two, three, there alright!)

How childlike I felt,

Having the mind set on this, I ended the rest of my primarily tasks and maybe got a bit set up to the day that awaited.

Sure time passed,
and time itself opened the gate to the blurry fog, with subtle arms,

how could you set the difference? I couldn't.

You detached a while

(how long is a while your superior asked and you didn' t know the answer either)
from the tasks you were asigned, with intentions
{each and everyone of them shooting, shooting, shifting, dancing from your back, outwards. Plenty of them to see, I'd say}
seemingly at ease.

Can he care?

When in doubt be prepared and make things up I would tell myself.
Carve inside and mold them to make them sound believable.

Indeed, I coupled the words the urban provided, with my words and your words and made a steamy grainy soup out of it!

Afterwards time paved the way and you sank bellydeep on concrete walls,
guided by ancient tellings we would wade so roughly and generously still

How? branches breathe with bruises, boiling boiling boiling beneath.






How mundane we looked on the cold floor tiles, defeated but complete.

Wide-armed.

And wanting.