I often
get lost
in your
canvas
p a l a c e
My hands
all dirty
with
old
p a i n t
What’s the colour
of your
dreams?
I d a r e
a s k
Yet you
never
utter
a single
w o r d
So I strive to
find my
answer
in ink
s k e t c h e s
*
I often
get lost
in your
canvas
p a l a c e
My hands
all dirty
with
old
p a i n t
What’s the colour
of your
dreams?
I d a r e
a s k
Those
undecipherable
ink
s
t
r
o
k
e
s
Paint
pirouettes
that won't
tell any
t a l e s
*
My dreams
are
sometimes
coloured
y e l l o w
— with
a
dash
of
b l u e —
Your eyes closed,
while I get lost
in the true opacity
of those abstract
i m a g e s
So I let
all shades sink in—
colouring your reverie
back to
r e a l i t y
Blue-blood poet
cold at heart
large,
your ego,
this swell night,
She’s a tourist
in wild dreams
of word orgies
blood verse
streams,
Both,
crossed lovers
madness feigned,
vintage statues
They remained
Wordplay
artists,
starry
nights,
warm-blood poet—
S t a y
t h e
n i g h t
New seas she sails
with wet, wet eyes
cold, purple lips
a wild, wild heart
A fighting mind
one fateful tune
one fresh start
a blinding light
New poems read
with tired eyes
a stunning feat
those rhyming lines
Warm, purple ink
a healing heart
she will, one day,
recover might
A writing sword
on stormy fields
she will in dreams
all battles fight
And conquer will
those seas she sails
those dry, dry lines
a fighting mind
She starts to sail
she longs to write -
new poems, wild,
they will take flight
New seas she sails
a bright new night
with drier eyes
h e r
s o l o
w r i t e s
She trespasses
the confines
of this purple
forest,
the one
I
just
i
m
a
g
i
n
e
d
My legs
dangling
in the air—
u n n e r v e d
by the lack
of motion
of recent
days
She twists
and turns
and sings
and rhymes—
Mother of verse
Sister of bored
d e s p a i r—
with frenzied
flow
Her feet
tapping
to the sound
of a tune
only I
can
h
e
a
r
night of the monsters
land of the ghosts
fighting the dragons—
all the night hosts
flight or
free-falling
at dusk—
such dark ride
wild and
sky diving—
a spiralling
mind
night of the monsters
land of the ghosts
fight of the dragons—
by rugged coasts
flight or
free-falling—
the sound of
false tunes
those wicked
noises,
all the sky
croons
play to deaf ears
through all glossy trails—
flight or free-falling,
smokey travails
night of the monsters
land of the ghosts
fighting the dragons
in nightmares they boast
flight or
free-falling
at night—
such dark ride
all but
divining—
a spiralling
mind
dreams are
dreams—
these
dreams of
m i g h t
as
night
becomes
a subtle
b l i n d
for storming
ears
and
fears of
d e a t h
and silent
smiles
and
rightful
s t a r e s
I sing
I sigh
I dream—
We
d r o w n
those dreams
red nights
a
subtle
c r y
and dreams
are dreams—
those
dreams,
t o n i g h t
will end
the affair,
and
cover,
m i g h t
You sing
You sigh
You dream—
We
d r o w n
these dreams,
such dreams,
this
s u b t l e
b l i n d
with his
singers
and
dancers
she could
not
c o m p e t e
as she had only
killer words
to offer—
to be
licked and
s a v o u r e d
dark
chocolate
bites
for lyrically
sophisticated
t a s t e b u d s
he now wished
he’d gotten an earlier
taste—but was
already perishing
with languid
b r e a t h
just as he’d
swallowed
the very last
lyrical mouthful
of her poisoned
s t a n z a
for she only had
killer words
to offer—
to be
licked and
s a v o u r e d
dark chocolate
dessert for
his sweet
and sultry
cabaret
s o i r é e
D
r D
u r
m u
m ,
little women's army
splatter walls—
dressed in
war face
p a i n t
magic hands
can turn out
wonders,
now they're sleeping—
shan't be
awoken
y e t
close
the shutters,
no light
streaming—
they deserve
a darkened
dreaming
b e dD
r D
u r
m u
m ,
little women's army—
splatter walls
dressed in
war face
p a i n t
b u r n i n g
b r i d g e s
h o l d i n g g r u d g es
f l o w e r s
w i t h e r
w e a k e n e d s t a r s
s i l e n t
p a c e s
w o r d s w i t h f i g m e n t s
o f
v o i c e
p e t a l s
f o g r
g h y y m
e
s