Encounters

I saw Paris. I did.
I just did not see the Eiffel Tower.

Two metal studs, symmetrically placed
Below her full, african lips.
A yellow hippo on her lap,
Green paws, ears and snout.
Beauty circling below the ground.

Et si vous pouvait tout changer
En 24 heures?

We locked gazes. He walked straight
Into the arm of a swirling waiter,
Sending a shower of broken glass and coins
To give shine to the concrete walkway.
A circle dance all for me.

I saw Paris. I did.
I just did not see the Eiffel Tower.

Exhibition: Les premiers retables

Termites ate the holy knee.
A black core is exposed. He still smiles.

Grave old men. So righteous
Their beards curl in symmetry.

Her bright yellow stockings match her earrings.

Swords cut the marble children
As if they were made of butter.

Saints smile or cry. There is not much
Of a difference really. If any.

“But, you know, I had my period and everything.”

Water rises in layers, stripes to hide his feet,
Knees, thighs. He covers himself with his fingers.

Blood streams like glory from his wounds, shines
Through his skull, spears the air with hemoglobin.

There, he says, there is something
About three going on here. She agrees,
Nodding more than twice.

Christ always leans towards his right shoulder,
Be it in wood, ivory or marble. Searching for a solid support.

Like the child in the stroller I see in the afternoon.

Breathing is fortunately automatic

You know life is getting stressful when not only are you drinking cold coffee, but it is Monday‘s cold coffee. Today being Wednesday. Not to mention that when the light goes out after you have been sitting still for fifteen minutes you cannot be bothered to wave your arms to signal that yes, you are still alive and thinking, and would like some light to illuminate those dark corners of the mind…

Winter cold

Paper tissues, nose spray, peppermint oil, paracetamol – I have it all, cold included. I make guacamole with garlic and chili, burning concoctions with chili, honey and ginger, green tea, more green tea, then try a garlic broth, the recipe a courtesy from the New York Times’ health section. Still

My head floats in air,
Round and white like a full moon,
Useless in daylight.

This unstable satellite would prefer to crash down into the atmosphere of a bed, impressing the pillow with its weight, leaving a crater for future explorers to exclaim: look! Here once lay a head! Or something like it.

During the day I stare at nothing, my food tastes of nothing, I hear nothing if not called twice. One could think I was in love.

I breathe heavily,
Face flushed like an autumn tree.
A sneeze shakes the leaves.

I feel as sexy as a naked, gnarled branch as I reach for another packet of paper tissues.

Views

We drew human figures in class. Now I see skeletons everywhere.