Scribbles

The Runner I Watched

You ran and I was watching you run
in circles around me
Like a runner in ecstasy of winning
an illusive trophy.

Warm it was, that night.

I said plenty I realize
it must have been too much
but not enough
clearly not enough.

This torture
of inexperience is not enough
We are left with none
to begin with.

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Long Dis

somebody’s playing a song
of long distance love
my hum in the background

between phone calls
and dinners
we can call it a long distance love

if by every step you walk on,
we can count the times we walked together
if it was yesterday
maybe we can do it again

Lune

If by reason
I need to follow
I would rather be mad.

To follow is to lose
the shine of darkness and
my world in its empty delight.

Velvety moss,
dipped in hollow verses
when I lay I look and imagine
to fly to cry.

To fly, I went
and held in my hands
the yellows, the blues, and the reds
until each dies into black abyss.

And looking down
eternal deaths in a maze
half in the glinting sun
the rest in the sight of lune.

 

January

We walked on, to your old home
like it was not too long.
Up the elevator we listened
to the same old, same gold.
On the fourth we stepped out
to exactly how it was,
but your home, long gone.

White door, white walls,
the broken chair,
empty halls.

Down the elevator we listened
to the same old, same gold.
Read out what was written
on the wall, same old.

Out in the streets, looking up
the moonlight
Getting kissed, under the moon halo
in the moonlit night
we know we missed the mistle toe
But
Out in the streets, looking up
the moonlight
Getting kissed, under the moon halo
In the moonlit night
Missing the mistletoe was fine, it was all right.