what if #3

what if
I’ll become completely hollow inside
and only naked echo
will tease my ego and that other
that messing up my life

and then I’ll have some tea
or wine to refill that
emptiness again
but with the right stuff

a kaleidoscope #3

Fortune telling on a kaleidoscope
for the single pair of hands.
Shards of hope, are mixed up
with the shards of boredom.

Yin – Yang are taking
bizarre forms.
Some already dead, and often
with the smell of chloroform.

Sunny-cloudy-scattered-precipitation.
Ticket in one direction
neither there nor the other way.

Striking yourself in the chest with a fist,
a French kiss.
How do you prefer some mercy
in pounds or in barbiturates?

Shards of hope, mixed up
with shards of boredom.
Gold sand from the sand-clock
into the random hands.

I almost failed to remember
my obligation to see myself
withdrawing from my mental exile
in a self induced coma.

a State of the Union
Pharaoh’s Dance.

All buses are sponsored
and waiting under the bridge
away from the Eye of the Beholder
away from the Thunderstorm of Hail and Fire.

The path to the dystopian future
is laid out through the parting of mind.

(Sea of Reeds)

Don’t jest and perform miracles
while stuck in limbo
frozen in salto mortale
over abyss of self awareness.

I was roaming
in the corridors of my introspection
and tripped over a dusty repentance,
and lost a flashlight.

I’m lost, – I admit!

In this maze of
rabbit holes,
dead ends
and secret chambers,
and doors leading to nowhere.

Misplaced.

I should have applied for a dispensation,
but I was too arrogant
to fill out the form.

The moment when some will learn
how to grow wings,
as their new limbs;
they’ll immediately spread them wide
and fly high to the sky;

and without having any bleak hue of guilt
will shit on the heads of those
who propagate potato-existentialism.

without any bleak hue of guilt, —
no, no.