Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Confession


Wantoo tree for figh've siccess,
Heaven ate ninecerous.

Tend to levander of welf, teen smell fror,
            uproar commence.
Wenty fram-torpars, assester,
            gumming storp, comporta-presser,
Tyme, twixport, gombot-corroded,
Mended wall, in soto proded.
As fernard, tropord infell,
   love estreme, dream time of well...
Tell .. intended krado-mosters,
   preregnostix, falazosers.

Rarm, esfor - castora-dar,
      rerm intorn, intor-da-rarars,
Ferst, dorar - arstert.

Ar-har.

Have you noticed there are no full moons anymore?
        New neither.
This is not a scientific discovery, rather a personal one.
All moons are old, faded, blurred, unless on a photography blog.

Confession:

I don't know what I'm doing,

Sitting here, watching the words coming.

Some only to take off, quickly, somewhere else, just as they notice me,
            in a game of lost and seek I keep losing.

Others, fit until the last moment, reveal their secret flaw,
           the one, as we do not have time for more,
           in a game of "avoid if/while you can".
Because if I don't, it then takes me a hundred and seventy two
       long moments, on average, to peel them off my brain.

But the time is not wasted. No.
Unless I know what I'm doing.