ScandinaviaThere are no hours. Dali painted theseScandinavia
Swedish clocks Amorphous And dripping through Branches like lazy fingers. Every minute Yours: memory’s The past, and Dreams of the future’s Freedom. Loveless We share that Significantly, only. Before is after, After’s today, And tomorrow Tomorrow I leave this place.
SilentCome, Sit with me, listen to the Silent empty lonely trees In a grove where green comes Regular, every Saturday night From glistening emerald beer bottles Glorious transplants in sand; In a quiet little place where a merry flock of Dove-white plastic bags Swirls around lovers. In a glen where your sole serenade— This evening’s accompaniment Is alone the shrill wailing of sirens. Sit with me and Sit and see &nSilent
UnderwaterThe steady, steady creak, creak Are, are we, are we here? Up ahead and solid and is it? St Basil’s, twenty three, night and where And can and what, what is this and (the future, the past, the past, the past) And how am I to know to be who? The brittle trees are jellyfish Clinging, clinging to the floor, What floor? Is it there now? Will it Is it ever going to be there again? In the distance I hallucinate what is. Shells convince, coral converges St Basil’s, twenty three, the homeless man Stubble and stitches, where was he born And what were theUnderwater
ConfusionThese things I feel For you blur, Windows and neon in the rain. Warm voices make me think of you And how I can never tell - Is it you I want Or your circumstances? Is my love of my heart or mind? I’d care for you better Than for me; For you better than yourself— I’d do the same for any, Since he taught me how. I can orchestrate a wonderful thing Given paper and string and an hour, But can I create With you On nothing at all?Confusion
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