Thursday, January 19, 2017

"TOMORROW I WILL LEAVE"







































"TOMMORROW I will leave
and travel far from here.
Maybe it surprises you
after so many years
that I will be gone.

Tomorrow I will set my house on fire
and sing some naughty songs.
Will you be hurt?


Will you finally notice
that I am also hurt?


















Tomorrow I will stick my heart in my head
and wear a red hat.
The entire town will see me
sounding the alarm upon your street.
The entire town will see me!

Tomorrow I will leave
and yet will always remain here.



Maybe you will laugh, maybe
at my roguish manner ....
Dead is what I wish to be."

I.B. 

8 comments:

Millineries said...

"I drink dry the fountains, empty them out;
time sinks deeper into the sea
as space encounters my own dead weight
and pushes me into the evening's house."

Millineries said...

'IT COULD MEAN SO MUCH'

"It could mean so much: we cease to exist,
that we arrive unasked and then must yield.
That we speak, and yet misunderstanding persists,
and not for a moment is another's hand held

destroys so much: we will not survive.
Even strange signs forbid what we desire,
and the need for introspection that's still alive
an "x" now cuts through, cancelling it forever."

Millineries said...

BEHIND THE WALL

'I am the Continual-Thought-Of-Dying."

Millineries said...

"Chained up in a ditch I was later found,
escaping an egg that was covered with dirt"

Millineries said...

PROOF OF NOTHING

"Do you know, mother, when latitude and longitude
can't locate a village, your children wave
to you from the dark corners of the world?"

Millineries said...

MAKE NO STATEMENT

"Make no statement, be silent, live,
live the life prescribed you,
the sun, which divulges nothing, don't bother
anyone.
It's enough not to hope, not to fear."

Millineries said...

FOR INGMAR BERGMAN, WHO KNOWS ABOUT THE WALL

"...Only wild gnashing dogs like one sees
no longer, blood hounds
that attack you,
that bay as
my mouth turns
a lovely blue
with the frost
of the mown fields of love,
love, the great merde,
alors, which fertilizes a
madness in which,
as far as I can see, everything,
the way I see everything,
is destroyed."

Millineries said...

THE DRUGS, THE WORDS

"The sick know
that a color, a breath of air,
a hard step, indeed a
whimper of grass in the world
turns the heart inside
the body,
causing them to hope
for peace more they sense
war, as the war goes on.
They love
the white uniforms
of the nurses.

They hope that
from the white
something good will come.
They are not
white at all."