Bare

Oooooh.

Be
the
support that keeps the towers together.

Sick of
watering the fields, and milking the cows.

Wearing heavy robes, on a sequence.

Let's meet at the vestibule, (warmth) . The knightage left sooner than expected.

One thousand and thirty-three bats flew out of the caves and into the town.

It's the core

speaking.

We're callow to this.

Until now,

I had never realized how the city looks at night.
Sensuous mist breathes faithfully whilst churches ring their bells out,
leather-people walk, some sleep in benches.
Recent rain layed on the road. And the smell lingered.

Pinetrees outside churches and abandoned buildings, and a choir singing afar, with a faint saxo leading the way.

Looks that denote desire, or affection. A slippage would cause commotion, and I'm not sure why because the rode leaks grey, grainy blisters, and the uncertainty from behind all of us and from the sides is enough to make blood race. Forth.

Inhumane, dogs starving in a mundane haze.
Wind in trees, and now and then cars lightning the rode.

Ominous moths in streetlamps staring.

And then, siiiiiiilence
only
footsteps
paving
the - road

How is this any different than what you consider heartsease?

It was called.

Who knows because it's not cold anymore and although it's not the same weather, it is the same place indeed, and last time you were seen here you were leaving, handful, and maybe not planning a comeback.

Could we know?

It's probably been enough since last time, maybe, and between roads, clowns, parades, carnivals and masquerades and whatnot, the place hasn't changed much rather has had a slight twist, maybe, people-wise.

Can we care?

No.
We long for a comeback that doesn't involve fake masks, or dancing.
Sure. For it to be like it used to be, early Saturdays on boats that sail. Fishing and bringing food home.

Did that ever happened?

It's as if we were looking at ourselves through a mirror.

With a dead end.

Really, child.

Strife

There isn't money involved, whatsoever.

I claim to know what happens
when you laugh in between overdone jokes,
when strings and strings softly develop(golden ones)rising up and shooting rapidly

when affected by rain or gloomy weather, touching ice or cracking wood.
when poetry smells the same again, and you're being reminded of metal, bodily wires of carnage
that maybe rip on top,
and they long and crawl beneath pores of self-pity.

when unfriendly teeth meet the eye,
and eyes unfold, bowing.

folks assume, baaaad.

skin is not closed still but the roots bring up the truth that opens earth
and land, stirs.

With discretion

quite.


behind masks, of future.
or backwards over the sea, where the core is at.

silver.


Death comes with winter, and turns where the corner offers battered feathers of vultures.
Why, instead, don't you land far from here
where the raw meat thrives in pleasure

We don't deserve this.

They do.



Maybe it's selfish of me,
Or maybe I haven't figured out people yet.

I do not know the answers either.
May that be a statement.

Mary

Mary mocks my mind, man.


Mary means misfortune, misery.
My!

Merry Mary misses me : mistake!

Move, Mary, move. Mahogany!

Meanwhile,
Mary's mother motivates me more
Mary's mother mocks medicine.

Magnet! Manatee! My, magic. Machinery mows me more.
Means?

My mind meets Mary, more mess. My maze - murder.

Mourning more. Mistery, myths, miles... Many miss, many!

Most miraculous mistletoe marches, measuring me, meaning maybe monkeys marching.


Mayonnaise makes me merrier, Mary.

Develop.

Tumbleweeds.


Dust,
in wind.


Surely you were bound to be like them,
those who came at last, tired yet never-worried.

With dirt on hands, and cold looks, and sweating.

Surely you were effortless, but we spin and we sweat, and we go out of our way for you, but you concocted this, now finish it.


How come you chose money over this?

Gap missing (from 7AM to 8PM)

4 A.M

I got up and put my socks on, and my boots, and the rest of my garments. I washed my face
and went downstairs.
I fed the dog and gave him fresh water. Then, I made some toasts with butter and along, my favorite, homemade grapevine juice.

I, sick, with an ailment, brushed my teeth, hugged the dog goodbye, got everything packed, and went outside.

It was cold and gray, and fainted blue, and the sun was nowhere to be seen, yet.
The grass, green, and moisty, for it had rained the night before.

I took care of the hens, and fed the cows and cleaned the sheeps and brushed the horses.
Daily routine.

7 A.M

I went downtown to buy some food, and pay the bills,
I drove past the gas station, and visit my grandpa's farm. Hillbillies, all of them. They're still the same. Love them nonetheless.

8 P.M

I got home, and it was snowing.
I turned the radio off, parked the car, grabbed my coat and put it on, and I got home. The dog greeted me from the window.

I opened the door, threw the coat, went to the kitchen, made some hot chocolate, turned the fireplace on, kicked my boots off,
lay on the old sofa, turned the TV on


and watched whatever was on it.

It turned out to be some 50's soap opera alright.





Whoknowsmaybetomorrowitwillbedifferent