ciel

we ascend today. floating up through nitrogen and breathing nothing but the sun. we ascend today. after all is said and done, we migh fall back to the sea and drown, or be absorbed by the flaming dawn. either way, it marks the end of something we frownded on. you know, i think you'll fall and i'll stay afloat up there, basking in the too thin to breathe air. the water waves swell up and swallow you, you, you become part of it then. neptune got jealous and spit you out on the sand. gritty sticky partlices clinging to your skin and hands that tried to hold you up. maybe you're dead by then, too dead to care. i'm still floating high above, in that golden misty air.

l'arbre

whenever we see these trees of green, and their children, seedlings, fleeing the earth, we want to be the same. grow so big and so tall and so fast that we never had time to look back. they were buried in the dirt so long, the cold unforgiving dirt is where they lived. that's what they called home. the light shines now, but might dry them up. they'll never learn what it means to be. they're deceased. how fortunate they've already a grave. let them rot and enhance the future generations. i will plant my hand, and grow a finger tree with finger nail leaves. the fruit will fall down and do things. and delicate surgeries. my finger tree broke its back and did no more dexterous deeds. all the death and plain to ensue is my fault. blame me.

ardent mirage

do i smell chestnuts ?

rampant

sometimes i wish i missed you a little bit more. i try to remember why you ever so lightly stepped across well-renowned boundaries, and acknowledged little towns you could have trod on. the weatherman says it's cold up there. he's never wrong, and i believe in him. i hope you bundle up tight enough to cut off the blood to your head. and while you lie dreaming a fantasy beyond our understand, i might pass by. i might leave you to lie again. i might let you die. if you're lucky i'll remember by then and euthanatise you quickly than mother nature had in mind. and that reminds me, i never show mercy to your lowly, daring kind. so, recall what you will, and spill out in spurts too short to comprehend themselves.

sous-titre

many times have i wished i had the maps invented. the distance we miss over hills and mountains is a little too much to handle with discretion or consider remotely useful outside sleeps and dreaming. my mouth's opening made it that much farther. my words pushed it that much. i never intended anything by acquaintance, instead we have the thoughts expressed and sentiments repressed. i wished for reunion with that stranger there that winter air that held us back across the rivers who froze into the coldest form of frozen. we then could wonder whether we would cross or not, rather risk the pennies in our pockets before our best left shoes. you would slide much faster like a blade unto the island in the middle.