Day 1677, from nowhere.
Day 1676, stand.
If you look
~
at what you perceive
~
from the right angle
and height
~
it will
align
~
but
be sure
to stand still
Day 1675, closer.
I see clouds
floating
above the roof
I lie
under
~
they seem so close
and far away
~
I ask myself
staring upwards
~
do I want to be closer
to those clouds
or the roof
Day 1674, playing.
The urge
to pull
on the first words
dangling
in your mind
~
when asked
for an opinion
~
curious
for what will happen
you give
in
and the rest
arrives
~
you pulled
like the cat
with seven lives
Day 1673, her.
She was standing there
forever
still in silence
~
I could see
her posture
new where to go
~
up the stairs
to get her…
Day 1672, ice.
The flowers
turned white
into ice
now I see
that the clock
moved the time
ahead
and away
from…
Day 1671, against.
Our energy
seemingly
comes
from the same source
~
the wall
we stand against
~
ignoring
the fusillades
we look
the other way
~
and sometimes
we meet
each other
Day 1670, sideways.
I like to climb
higher
but all the lines
spoken
come towards me
~
I need lines
spoken
besides me
towards a step
and the next
~
please talk
besides me
Day 1669, not.
Sometimes you see
what it is not
~
the emptiness
filled
by a willing mind
Day 1668, waking up.
Like in a dream
that I drive out of
~
I wake up
when I come home
~
in between
these walls
my life is
real
~
the world beyond
is where I fall
Day 1667, noone.
The light and lingering rain
gives my mood
a muted tone
of afternoon and autumn
~
while I wander
in this light
I lookup
to an old window
~
and a thought
appreciating the mood
asks me:
~
does the window
fulfill its role
of bringing in light
in an abandoned house
Day 1666, fall.
For a few days in nature
a colorful festival
celebrates the end
of growth and feast
~
and we
admirers
in awe we forget
to celebrate
our own
Day 1665, sideways.
Like our nose
we don’t see the truth
when we approach it
to close
~
we can still see
a part of it
when we close
the right eye
~
when stepping back
is not an option
Day 1664, straight line.
A lot of things
that are man-made
have perfect
straight lines
going up
and sideways
~
even when we think
or speak
~
the shortest route
is a straight line
and when we look
for answers
we often
don’t wander
around
Day 1663, spilled.
From the clothespins
that are left
I can see
where you had your thought
hanging
to dry
~
I hope the blood stains
came out
Day 1662, who.
