a reversed circle
and to the edge
i stood by the barren pit

where earth met sky
all..
between perfect reflection

still-i considered height
and interminable depth
all with the aid of

my wizard stick..and lo!
rose a gossamer breadth
and voices of love

sang loud long and mesmerising..
the water shone and no bird
sang..

these seraph beautiful  both
male and female though
the latter, prettier..

my thoughts reflected
the women took dominance
this choral arrangement lasted

how long-i don´t know
i was eight..
what is time..

i got on my bicycle
and went home
telling no-one..

dear crow,

what we do to animals
we do to ourselves..
full marks for blake

though some will differ
i know no greater..
a vision of the angels..

dear crow,

for some it´s all too much
and for some it is all to little
for some it is the middle..

for them a mad second
to them a long long time
you know..

take my underwear again
and it will be a police matter
little bird on the wire..

dear lily

a robin red breast in a cage
puts all heaven in a rage
a dove house filled of doves and pigeons
shudders hell thro all it´s regions
a dog starved at his masters gate
predicts the  ruin of state
a horse misused upon the road
calls to heaven for human blood
each outcry of the hunted hare
a fiber from the  brain does tare..

dear lily
some sweet imagery
it can be a temptation
-overcrowding..

you give the eternal
minimilism-metaphors
and simile-

kept simple..a word of
the day thrown in
(for my education)

references and natural
a winter´s path through
the barren way

remembrances!
the birds have the last word
or love..

dear crow,
if lovers dream
riparian and joyfully
green-if the time

were but froze,
the ever passing stream..
if an instant or her smile remembered
was stilled..

a walk in whitening
clouds of breath
the old bridges!
and birds sing..

dear lily,
thoughts on love,
are we not just puppets
the laughing hand above?

we fumble and we bumble
the grease paint blinding
hiding to a bow
the saddened string

only to encore:
i wish we had never met..and write
dreadful poetry about fate
and love and hate..

the dreaded rational
i deserve it..the things
i have done..this show
every cynical maneuver

under the footlights
like a nose that grows with
every lie
goats and cows..mountains..

the scenery changes but
it remains
if only- if-if..
your grass-hopper lover..