The trees are gone 

The seashore is lit by the shadows of sharks

I don’t want to go home

Where tables and chairs are empty

And walls echo from the distance

A charming song for no one to hear 

A blizzard for the bespoken lie

It is I who speak the depths of cosmos

It is I who dares to see the light

The wisdom is chosen by the 

Slow running stream

Don’t ever chase nightmares for horseback rides,

don’t drink from the fountain of youth –

The dream will end when there’s no more of it. 


A council of priests
A naked boy in the street
A murder of crows

Why did you do that?
They may ask, no one really caring –
To run away, he would reply to
No one really listening

From what.

A party of desperation
An orgy of blame
Who did what –
And who’s is the fault.

The boy still running
Naked, in the woods
No one bothers
to give him a sweater

or call an ambulance.

dream dimension

Sometimes I still wake up
in my childhood bedroom.
My eyes wide open
I try to make sense of the shadows.
Was the bookcase next to my bed,
or was it the vanity?

Sometimes I can still feel
the soft psychedelic lullaby
of the rhythmic pharmacy green light
creeping through my blind-less window.
Red, then green, then red, then double green –
looping on the ceiling
and in my restless dreams.

Will I be trapped forever
in this yellow-walled room
chased by ghosts sipping blood
out of cartoon decorated bedsheets?