Την έβδομη μερα απο την πρώτη, το δέρμα φούσκωσε κάτω απο τον ζεστο ήλιο.
Θυμήθηκα την ησυχία, όπως συμβαίνει πάντα άλλωστε, και μόνο οταν γεύομαι ιώδιο.
Την έβδομη μέρα απο την πρώτη, όπως συμβαίνει πάντα άλλωστε,σκεφτόμουνα τον θάνατο.

Καλό Καλοκαίρι

Ισχνές Αγελάδες.

Note.

The awakened sleeper.
The still body yet to bloom.
A hand grasping the air, a space cleared by light
where the mind is blank,
where the mind is safe, to slip and fall and set the lines of self. Across color creates, possessing the space for days to come, of sleeps to end.
Here, where the rays of light resemble in density the black.
Forming sound with new instruments attained, we speak the language of quest, the desire to conquer. Myself , is not.
Until the night inviting and jeweled again the lust of sleep will bring.
I thought he lied.

Humanity.

Last night's dream.

A little ant walked by

All we had to share was silence
And then, again, the grains of sand we counted

Until we were no more.



A little ant walked through

Glazing eyes was all we shared
Of fear of sloth or maybe truth

Behind the light is hidden fear.


My little friend ran by

It shouted “low ! ” and fled
My knees had touched the ground

Not soon enough for them…

And then there was no more

Of freedom or of dirt
My little friends they left

Along with human soul.

Speed.

Lost frames of an image that are inevitably recorded in one’s head .

The abstraction of light due to abnormal rhythm of movement .

A parameter of time translated to fit the sloth of human comprehension.

The space where you fear to lose your balance .
It feels fatal.

The lost frames between one moment and another .

The image that you’ll never know you saw.

A way to express a change of rhythm .

The guilty party for never feeling the present .

The lack of focus.