On a summer evening..

a neon thread stitching my dark thoughts together
dont divide the one from the other
that`s not how the Mother
meant it to be.

My heart beating, with a thousand war-drums, in my ear
my mind weaving a bouquet of fears,
blowing the fragrance
over candy crystal photo-frames,
from which both people and pain
are fading.

I sit in a giant flower
the giant petals are each a sleeping peacock.
I patiently await my hour
and listen to the Breath Clock.
the rise and fall of a collective sleepy breath..
a rise and fall
a rise and fall
that never resting Breath Clock.

Those prints on your fingers
with lines in spirals and waves
Are stamps of your karma
that seal your body over time and age.

We are huddling turtles on the broadway
- which is, in a rather odd way -
the Giant Tongue.
Look!
it`s wrapping us all up, one by one.
like a toad rolls in his favourite fly for dinner.