Oswald's Autumn

I have done

what you have not

or would not then the

moment that met your eye

is not the same

as the moment in which

those clouds held

the breath and light that

lit that day.

Here in January

a rose bloomed once

a little,

red-folded one.

There is

more than meets

the eye

"what meets the eye"

you asked but

I could not answer I

felt disappointed

completely betrayed, all-through.

Alexandria's Wall

In the middle of everything
(and despite everything), I turn around and put a hand to my forehead as a way to lessen the warm, hurtful beaming of the sun.

I look at the small part of the town that still shows from where I stand,

it is clear that the sandy dunes have blocked the beautiful view of Alexandria by now.

"Egypt remains the same, after all these years."

I manage to utter behind the turbant.

Somehow every aspect of a journey that was both warm and bitter manages to be a bit more unclean by the minute.

And more as I keep twisting around with the ideas,

nothing seemed new but everything seemed wonderful.

Egypt, you look clean, bright yellow.

But I myself,

(here, dressed in white and dirty with the sand on my clothes)

I'm NAIVE to not look beyond you.

To Washington, France, Quebec and the Great Wall,

And YOU again, go figure.

There must be a reason outside of this galaxy.

I'm in front of you, pouring the entire ocean in this tiny hole in the sand to find the answer.

Every word swum in my head, floating and bursting like a sea urchin, very big and full.

"How much until the next town?"

With you, Egypt,

the possibilities are not endless.

Your skyline is beyond infinite, yes.

But the moon is upstairs putting an eye on us.

There, drawing figures of ourselves: one in place, the other defeated.

As you can see, it is getting dark.

Further I walked, not knowing how much of a walk this was.

What lies ahead?

A big great mother of a son trying to twist every one of my hearts.

Much of a night, with a road ahead.

Egypt, I once thought you spoke in tongues, as if driven by the Holy Ghost.

It seems, these days, that

your heart belongs somewhere else.

As I'm moving towards the south I finally figured something out.

Sand Creek

I felt indian sand around the Golden Hearts.

A dissonance closed the eyes. Warm.

I walk north far from the bees, and get to a place where I can be heard by thousands. Rest.

You found me defeated behind several trees, to a river and far from turmoil.

Maybe I couldn't see well or maybe the sun was strong: you seemed

white and brief (and Grand), like a ghost.

I thought the ground was vast enough

I thought the ground could bear miracles from legions poured on our clouds,

such as

warm milk

into our brains,

big and plain but I was wrong.

I thought you were the land itself.

You're in the middle and suspended, whereas I fall again.

I return, defeated, at the same time somewhat healed.

Many walks ahead.

A desert blew away the signs.

A river washed away the bees.

Rebecca's Ocean

someday, Rebecca.

some flowers can last forever.

Isaac has divided an ocean, has wiped the sand to an extreme.

But the night seemed white and you were laughing at the moon.

A plea, Isaac, a prayer.

But not to Rebecca's sanity, not today.

Find Isaac's nature for yourself, we already have.

It was raining, I remeber.

I felt so alone.

Isaac's Prayer

Your shoulders turned blue:

"Vinegar's back."

Obviously.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thousands on Monroe's economy, very very wet

and with the scent of a whore, delicious to your behavior.

You wrote something down.

The sundance has begun.

Swift.

Isaac is praying, far be it from any type of madness.

This is a Viper that is attacking this country, so you go.

Yes. Off you go to try and seize the sun,

Take me with you, again with a sea ladder.

To project ourselves and to hold on to any good

although everything is wrecked.

Absolutely!

Sun down, sundance.

Your face is in my heart and sad is the fact that we're pulled apart by centuries.

One Day

And you just may go...

(For the blues and for the sun you're hugging.)

out of here and into the city.

Whatever you are thinking I've already thought.

I can say we'll meet again,

I have not yet seen the best of you.

A year from now Celia will be drowned by a big white cloud.

Some of her hair will fall into your knees.

(Thoughts)

All in all, within the corn and before this ends,

I think you don't know what's happening IN FRONT OF YOUR EYES

Before the oil was warm and the sun casted a shadow, I

never knew I would be wandering in low spirits,
in this yellow ocean and holding a square upwards to cover the sun.

You came with the body on the thrill.
Our power was at the mouth,

but frozen like the ice that broke my spirit once,

broke your eyes in front of the Lord.

Again, the power lost itself

as it came:

fast,

in this great ocean.
Again, melancholy is found
yes, in the eyes of the horse.

A diamond is casted to the bottom.

falls in sand
only to break.

I don't know what the thing is that I'm seeking here,
and there have been many times before.
"Is there any good within you", left me wondering.

Again I find myself more than lost...

More to a telescope, if I can guess a few words.

For you it was over when she said the word 'maybe'. Funny enough I've
come to find everything was over for me in the first place.
Very well, I left the newspaper on the coffee table,

the sun wasn't out yet.

Down in Vienna a good hand was feeding the slaves,
like good wine:

Will it better itself with age?

There was a lake in my mind,

an ode to your strength

"I'm not hungry anymore", I thought.

I felt a punch from a silvery, platinum hand.

as if revenge had surfaced as an alternative again

Not everything comes around.

I felt empty and full at the same time.