Magic – messiah

#5 Magic – messiah

There is no messiah, the one you saw
was a rehab reject, walking away from the finite
and had nothing to offer but samples of
religion, stars and crosses. Every season
is hungrier than the previous, even
the gods are clueless.

Unlearn our previous, we have no
answer. Between our lips, we fail to
read the magic, the shiver and the spine,
that’s the only moment of honesty.

Magic – Totality, world and everything

#4 Magic – Totality, world and everything

I have a body of souls, I don’t believe in
as they never add up to the whole.
The whole is another, where there are dead
porcupines and radiating threads of broken
conversation. I watch my words from a distant
world of magic, they create another. My bleeding
elbow, the myth of family, I think I have lost
my sword. I envy my mirror which I felt had
more than life, ended up powerless confronting
multiple truths and misplaced every
notion of living.

My body, my whole is very unsure
of my room.

Magic – adhesive

#3 Magic – adhesive

Cut your brain into pieces of even,
trapezoids and space out in groups.
Arms and feet, cut into even,
hallucinating policemen collecting
evidences of the disjoint. Similar cities,
different rains accumulate near the torch lights,
too many pauses to hold together
an enormous body of consequences,
flying cycles magic their way into
a state of consumers. The government chose to
distribute adhesive along the pipelines.

Magic - museum

#2 Magic - museum

Swimming darkness presently continuous,
pleasantly continues to the future,
past gerunds and obscurities of a tension,
unaware of the demands of magic,
so dimensionless that colours fall apart,
spreading through the waters.

Here, the curator steps in, wipes his razor,
introduces his thoughts on buoyancy and
density of sinking men. Opting for the balcony
he leans over the night,
over flowing the darkness.

Magic – harbour

#1 Magic – harbour

My understanding of magic,
as the world would treat realities
of forms, is beyond my perception
of shadows. I check the standard
bricks of my every column.

Linen and ships of garments waiting
outside the city, the harbour which
remembers nothing but hollow rose petal
boxes, empty with the olfactory
modality of red. The harbour never weeps
for the numerous memories as the next
moment it waits,

we take a lot of time before
magic actually.

Station – Part II (Springtime)

#32 Station – Part II (Springtime)

Listen to the wheels,
spring is rolling over you and your madness.
A sign of changing shoulders
while shadows change trajectories
of suspended miracles.
Often I miss my own,
station and other particulars,
stay safe, I know you can,
return with every spring, take
my feet through the corn and the field.
I love every road I walk with you.

Station - Part I

#31 Station – Part I

Spare me your station,
its blue and yellow stripes.
I hear your tracks, taking you back,
where you had started. Train me,
to look straight into the darkness,
timid myopic vision soft around my existence.
Queue up my infirmities, quiz me
through your blades, I change my buttons
and stand closer than a year.