¨.

José Acquelin 

what is found is searched for
what everyday brings forth serves little to loving
we live and consider normal we do not know living
never do I forget I'm just passing through here and there
I am not from this world and can do nothing else
but laugh at my neurons
and fall dizzy with birdsong
the only bird to land on suffering
with the offering of wings
people say: wake up it's only poetry
I say:life is the insomnia of sleepwalkers
hypnotized by movement into matter
who ignore the beauty of ignorance
this is how I ready myself for death
an idiot and happy to be one

               *

if the cage gate opens
and the bird stays in
are we to blame the cage ?

              *


this is one of the best ways to disappear
the sky seems like a round milky slate
the white sun blows a circle at its center
the wind lifts a couple of birds away
am lying there in a field
of overgrown yellow grass
no one in the world
knows that I am here
not even me

    *



Thirst

She has gone far beyond death. She has chosen to sit here, in this bar, where life begins as punctuality and hours of obedience end. She orders water in an elegant glass, speaks to no one, except to my silence, or I imagine her silence is speaking to me. She tells me things she no longer cares to talk about. Human water is thirsty for something more than itself. My glass is empty, it is an open book.





(t y sam)