Archives des articles tagués moon

woke up to the whitest
tempest
of ideas,
lying still
pondering,
powdering as flakes
of love were falling down and I
should go get them quick —

groceries. food
for thoughts.
for tough
minds and hearts and
blinds
like mine. food for mines
(antipersonnel)
that I should avoid as well as heaps
of snow covering all peace
-fully —
i’m a weightlifter
of boots and hearts.

lost in white is
my way, as is yours,
and the moon
‘s
softness,
for this overwhelming screen is
weighing on my eyelids like
the heaviest tears of women before
and now
I have things to heave,
to ease —

ebbs. flows.
periods.
full
stops.

regular is only a word
some other people have invented
to make sure they control
their snowflake intake;
I am here lying
still
on a white surface,
waiting for the beautifullest
– irregular –
snowflake to drop
again
on my tongue,
again and again.

20131216-001152.jpg

I am on a bus under a full moon.

Is this a dream? As in, « life is a recurring dream »?
Clouds don’t want me to watch but my heart knows. My heart is drawn up while my body passes on a bridge too high. A bit too high. A roller coaster squeezes my spine.

Wait. My heart knows.

My heart knows we’ll be fully together soon. Soon after I have passed these rushing hours, in which the round softness of ease remains nowhere to be found.

My body is nowhere.
My body is to be found.

I am on a bus and the bright horizon stretches itself wide under sagging clouds. Arms wide open, wide crushed.

My heart is wide bruised. I’ve bruised it myself. Since I was born.
But there’s the full moon. There’s tea that makes me cry. There’s you and own imminent reunion and our sobbing and our blessings. There’s a dream that my body can find its center again.

My body is round.
My body knows how to be.

I am up in the air again, launched as a book with no cover. I’m flying like a stack of papers defiantly thrown (up) by a student. And while I’m up in the air I think the moon is not far therefore I can reach her. I can reach myself.

My heart is round.
My heart is a fist under a veil.

The veil is the same colour as my lips, which are the same colour as my gums. She made me laugh so hard today while we were walking along a brick wall, and because she burst out laughing at the exact same time my gums actually vibrated. It hurt. Slightly. I was shocked. And laughed once more.

My heart can be moved up, so can my body. I’m on a bus and I’m everywhere to be found. As long as there are bright colours I can picture myself easily. I can picture myself easily in your autumnal leaves. « Of Autumn », it read.

My body is red.
The moon is red.

Red as passion and emotions that flow back in. Red as the sheets we used to lie on before they got furry with cat hair. Red as cat fury, red as our laughing at him.

My heart knows where the moon is. It knows the road to you, too.

Our hearts know how fully human each of us is.
But they also know how fully we’ll be together.

I am on a bus under a full moon.
And my dream is everywhere to be found.