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how shall the riddle of thinking be solved and how the one of the flame? words with the flavor of scars and roses resounding in the cellar of life where the hole in the heart is as big as a truck and dawn lies shred and mangled time and expired existence dread a new reality reasoned by a chance erased before being read the sun rises while you are sleeping in a shining reticle not knowing with whom you are or what has happened; forever scarred by the past that lingers living nearby yet very far where will you be servant of your own experiments or dj of thought whose mixer is your scientific tool to design a bizarre universe of sound? you are roaming around restlessly abhoring vagueness while you breathe the wind in the rhythm of time a caged bird is singing so sweetly to scorch your soul as you kiss whom you hold now close and dear like an asteroid lighting on a trajectory you smile to understand the bird in the cage is trilling in minor chord while the torch is gently rotating; you open the window to dreams and stars and the wine you drink is as red as your heart and the night is crying
taut as a string you cannot rest and have to send out sparks forever
i am nothing, you say, and your laboratory is vibrating and flickering just like your soul; it is wailing and howling when you touch the wires of mind or fiddle on your veins or blow the yearning trumpet of love;
i am nothing, you say, and are sure about it, because everything else is uncertain
life is a propitious prophylaxis of death a blissfull illusion a beautiful rose
witchcraft of mind firmament for the heart
detoxification
is the truth true? your hand your own?
sixty-two ways to support the head while thinking; your thoughts flare up like flames, logical and indistinct, precise and confusing;
your formulas, your slogans that you hang up on pegs to set on fire later on disintegrate into dust before being tamed
criticizing the human as a hypocritical creature you are loath to the process of thinking yet cannot stop; you ride on words while you have already dismissed the written idea
nothing is certain, nothing is sure
everything is flaring up and fading away and nothing but the attempt to understand with heart is burning in the night of shadows
how shall the riddle of thinking be solved and how the one of the flame?
your hands are baskets to be filled with pearls your thoughts birds that fly gracefully through the night
your hair is an abstract of dreams and i long to touch it
as dawn dust comes on quieter than silence and light slowly creeps filling space
i am not sure what it means to roll in the moving motion of time and light
i am not sure what it means to dine on slices of september moon or if the herbs of tomorrow can spice yesterday's dreams
i shall drink cinnamon and stars while the world is asleep the heart a flame and blue with wonder
i shall caress the sand that is left between toes and teeth and behind eyelids
and cry pearls and flare up laughing
i am soaked with light and the gold of a thousand suns and a thousand ways to love and the burning of the sky
i am everything i am nothing i am the paradox that is eternity in the moment's universe i am writing down words so the wind can hear me
and call them across
nightfishing among the plankton of my vocabulary phosphorozing in the dark to listen for sweetness
a million surfaces without a tongue
lineament of dreams
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