Lights

Flashes of lights of rushing cars,

Tired eyes of street lamps rooted in place,

Pale shine of the moon and glittering stars

Draw figures of humans and ghosts out of space;

/

In the night I forget if I’m one or the other;

I don’t speak, I don’t touch, I don’t dream, I don’t hurt –

Simply follow the lights, and imagine that somehow

I will come to the sun at the end of the road;

/

If I’m human, there I will be freed of my shadow,

Which either runs too fast or crawls, heavy and slow;

Only there I will learn what it’s like to be happy

When my flesh and my mind burn down to an unknown;

/

And if I am a ghost, I will see why I always

Have been callous and cold, and somebody to fear;

I will see what the world sees with the sun as my mirror –

A storm cloud in the sky ripped to shreds by the wind;

/

Screams of white lights of rushing cars,

Haunted eyes of street lamps rooted in place,

Quiet shine of the moon and shimmering stars

Draw figures of humans and ghosts out of space;

/

The scarse light of the night makes all figures look ghostly

But the sunrise will tell who is who, what is what,

So tonight I will walk along dark streets for hours

And till the very dawn believe whatever I want.

Cinderella Walks

My shoes of dazzling diamonds

Have spikes on the inside;

The beauty I see when I walk

They turn into scorchingly painful nightmares;

/

My dresses, which like spring waters flow –

Were hand-woven from living adders;

When I walk, their touch makes my skin crawl

And my veins – overflow with venom;

/

My smile is the gate to my heart –

It’s a scar that refuses to heal,

Proudly showing itself to the world as I walk;

I once believed naively that scars, too, had appeal;

/

My eyes from two grains of grey sand

Have grown into two mountains of granite;

I carry my mountains wherever I walk,

And dance on their slopes with bleeding feet,

A crippled smile, wearing Cinderella’s cerement

The Brushstrokes

It’s all a dream:

The lowest moments

And the greatest,

The imperfections

And the changes

Made by the mind

To what was by the mind,

Confused,

Created;

/

It doesn’t hurt, really,

When in my nightmares

Hungry demons

Gnaw at my bones

And rip to pieces

The magic heart

That every morning

I find unfailingly

Beating in my chest;

/

It is all a mirage:

This face, this body,

Their existence

And their ultimate

Disintegration;

There’s nothing wrong

With pieces breaking,

Cracks manifesting

On the unforgiving skin

/

Painted over

Emptiness

In thick colors

Of fear

Named and signed

By the artist,

‘Me’ –

Both as a sentence

And a key

/

To freedom

The Skyscraper

In my naked windows –
Pale paintings of concrete harmonies
Built out
Of chaos
/
On my glassy skin –
Marks of the painful adjustments
Made by the wearer to the costume,
And vice versa
/
And in my heart –
An ancient mountain god
Dancing forgotten dances,
Whispering secret verses
/
To the sky,
Which is no longer
Listening
Or watching

Wonderland

A life in ruin,

With every founding brick

Crushed into crimson dust,

Again;

/

To start anew, where

In this frigid, barren land

Do I begin to look for

The strength?

/

Under the moon I

See but pale ghosts

Of what has been,

And miss

/

The things I loved

And thought I knew, but

It seems now like they never

Did exist

/

Under the sun I

See only silver whirlwinds

Of rising dust, and breathe

Them in:

/

I was the one,

Out of whose mind they have escaped,

And so to hide them in my chest

I shouldn’t fear

/

Under the spring rain

I’ll kneel and slowly wash myself

Of everything I used to dream of

And dread

/

So when the skies

Are clear, I can begin to build

Another beautiful but fragile

Wonderland