Julia

odd key is out of tune
the turning never ends
a big house with big windows and bigger skies still,
the glass is half empty
even half full
and the noise is killing slowly
in your face I see the fall,
where is the beauty ?
where is the pain ?
where is that life
happy,
insane,
they die one after the other
heroes of thy father,
and I lie my ear down on the strings of a sound that never spins…

I am in the wrong,
for how much long ?
out of pity
it grows
it feeds on the sadness
larger than the world that it quotes,
blue tainted hair and blue painted nails,
it scars the skin
it bleeds
and it dreams,
in between hills
where the water spills
the burning has passed with a bottle of gin
and so,
Julia dreams…

of X and Y

writing became stale,
my thoughts linger outward in a redundant and unskilled manner
in hesitant yet concise steps,
nothing but disgraceful sampling of the unattended entropy…

the inner equation is unfit
the variables tremble,
either there is no constant or the definition may be inaccurate
so the pursuit of an X proves fruitless
and it is more of a Y than anything else;

I,
a single letter to me
it is key to understanding…

You,
poetry seeks insight
there is a rhythm to follow, an elegant musicality
the incorporeal promise of beauty and excitement
as imagination unfolds at the very moment the eyelids drop –
a slap to the senses :
is there anything left for … ?