Poetry

 

 

 

 

 

Not that yellow

                              

 

 

Full stop.


The big shrink tickles yellowy-urned
stars gone in supernovae, flogs&blists
mean uprises in sharp needles down.
Again or should I say: lemonish.

The screen and tablet poise absence
and radiance of nothingness.
If thereís light itís a centered dot
in my guts and is only me.

Our above-spring crumble down
while the off study and love,
laundry and dishes still stand
as cars and bicycles ride.

All down into the point
of whereto we travel:
kilometers and miles
into the core of life.

Through sickness and health
linger still the words.
Stubborn witnesses
Of full stop Our life.

 

August 2010 in the midst of a bad hepatitis