I use my name for a lack
of a better lie
better deception
that fits Closure of Time
and fights for my right to quiet ceremony
of standing out as the Light
when the dawn hardly breaks the skies above
and below

Lonely projection
I can seize and belong to
without drowning in doubt
as to whom I speak to
when left alone
by myself
I labor on image of cold
petrified silence
slowly invading abyss
of my deeds

It is then that my face
begins to take on contortions
anguished to look down the bottomless me
I cry from the depths
for solid ground
by God’s will left behind
to no better place
for waves of humanity
but Hell

when I was little
I would push my face into a pillow
hiding my breath
for starfield would become the air I needed
I called it
awakened air of Milky Way

when I got older
I would learn
of many words and how to speak them
not only to my self
imaginary books would fall by hundreds
through opened windows of the Universe

how come I’ve never  read a passage
on being homeless here
the bluest planet
the hollow Earth
on carpe diem missing sense
in all remaining seconds

and now of age
I am finally home
thus turning into space again
in quiet death I am shared alone
with everything by all

you sleep
and I wake your dreams for you now
fossils of touch preserved in madness of heart
insignificant traces of light
and pain
which I am
when not around

you wait
eight years have passed
eternity for stars
that only shine
again
when I am around
reflected in your eyes

love has never had its price so high
as I wake the dreams
over and over my half
myself undying
clown of that reflection
walking the demons afar
and us apart
in the only possible lack
of any coherent direction

at the funeral of all familiar worlds
matter
is the weeping mother of all lies
it touches you
to hurt
or sings its siren song
down your mouth
flows her vibrant
physical force
of meaning
and nothing else

if one could only forget
those hidden spells
in an awakened brain
and never admit
to a  loss or longing
for blindness

but even blind
I am a dancing
chanting
pain in the ass
life’s metaphore
as a matter dressed
in tolling bells of consciousness

at the funeral of all familiar worlds
matter
is the weeping mother of all lies
it touches you
to hurt
or sings its siren song
down and out your throat
flows her vibrant
physical force
surprise
of meaning follows

if one could only forget
these hidden spells
in an awakened brain
and never admit
to a loss or longing
for blindness

but blind
you are more of a dancing
chanting clown
usual pain to Earth and Stars
life’s metaphor
as a matter
dressed
in waking
tolling to skies
bells of selfish unconsciousness

we – the shame
to whoever they are
them, Gods
as defined by adversaries
us including