at dawn
this sand in this light in this morning morning light
this sand born out of born out of sea silent sea
this sand undisturbed completely undisturbed
this sand
no shoe prints no crabs no ripples no gravity
just this sand
Lullaby for the traveller
The landscape is a patchwork quilt and the Volvo is a cradle silver ribbons that pretend to be rivers are the threads that keep the patches of green together if you reach out with your finger and your thumb, you can feel the lush softness of treetops - but beware of churches the tips of their towers will sting you and wake you from your soft sleepiness still there is no need to worry the pastels of picturesque houses their pinks, creams, yellows will lull you to sleep and the car will softly, slowly rock with an engine humming that german tune you love so well
Prow Carvings
she is deep water green mirror with stars shyly paddle ripples her skin & a prow cuts its first curved lines leaps forward paddles are insect legs
slender stems surface fingers wrapping wood hesistating the prow dips in deeper but no fear: insects are born in water waiting until she lets go: a final scratch leaving smooth wet wood adorned
this is winter
little Bram only knew it when he sank three foot in it real snow is black
Maries knees cracked like woodsplinters frozen ground beats concrete
hunger ties a thousand knots in childrens stomachs potatoes only rot in cellars
if these maps weren't skin I'd burn them*
painting traveling from A to B and, if possible, up to the border where your skin stops and your hair begins
painting this is the highway here we've got some mountains there goes my thumb my traveler
painting hiking from A to B and, if possible, even further up and down your spine i don't need a suitcase you left me
painting my artelier turned into a bedroom again all i've got left now are some matches and some gasoline
oh yeah. and some paint.
*Title is a quote from poem by Richard Zola
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