poems by k.a

If I could buy you some happiness,
I would.
and, if I could hold you always,
I would.
but you turn on me,
and yell at me-
until I dissolve into blood and silence.
nothing I do
nothing I say
could matter more.

He hangs himself with joy,
a cherub from here,
he uses me just like a figure.
I have to be mad to be here,
like a lover,
like a broken dancer in a garden,
what then must I do
to be like him,
to be like a spiritual lover,
ready and sour,
golden and special.
he lets me be,
away from him
in this passionate garden.

A prisoner with out a shelter,
you say you have to get out.
rooms suggest exile,
and you love feeling mad.
who then, would catch you
when you fall?
I will not be around for you,
I must hand you over to yourself now,
this town leaves me a cold fugitive,
and you a small villain in a sullen hall
this Is what bitterness Is about.
I have to get out of there, away.
you can chase me if you must,
but get out if you could.

Glory should be yours,
it speaks through you
like a passionate visitor
in a rugged heaven,
youth should be yours,
those spirits of yours
flow through me as if
you whispered through me.
glory should be yours,
it can not be controlled like me.

My life would be yours,
if you would but say
that you could be mine.
wild madness this may be,
saying that I'd abandon
myself for you.
vast bliss would be yours,
if you suddenly say
you'd be mine.

My fragility is silent,
I will not have you still.
you say you expect me to be yours.
my delight is not yours
my discontent is not yours,
and so,
I am not yours.

I am a scholar of consequences,
a cherub of the institution.
say what you like,
your death is my devotion,
your happiness is my burden.
I will make you act out in decay,
and appear to you in your tragedy.
come if you will,
it is your song that is mine.

Wait, he says
I have some of your bitterness
I reply that I don't have any,
but he just defended himself
we don't wait for the storm of force,
we expected it knowingly,
it's over, or so they say.
it's strange, but obvious.

Rock, flower, jug, and basket,
they generate some delight to me
in this simple prison.
my hands are rugged from rebellion,
my skin is frozen and rough.
these leaden legs can no more bend.
I still wait for your time,
but I no more follow you.
this cell has fell me like a flower;
establish your heaven and hope for me,
I will be there always in my eyes

the bystander.

I am the villain of the cell.
keep me here if you can.
my silence is my truth.
more treacherous then a beast,
I will approach you with love
and give you nothing

Gravel flows from my skin,
dragging me apart from myself,
hold me my joy,
I am leaving.
promise me your hope,
and I will ask for nothing more.

Exile is never kind.
once I was an artist, a poet,
but suddenly I am a fugitive.
believe me when I say
' it could turn on you still'
let me lie here for soon I will close my
eyes for ever more.

the visitor.

Have you even spoken to the prisoner?
he is brutal, and mad.
he lies and reveals himself knowingly.
just like a character in a tragedy.
this I can not get.

the detective.

Follow me,
through the clouds of grace
and into silvery heaven.
just like a boy,
you are innocent.
nothing can slip from you while
you are here.
look for me, my poet
and I shall explode into your soul;
stand with me,
for you are mine always.

the contessa of the palace.

Driving to the cafe,
I was watching the cop help some boy.
he jumped into a tar hole
and couldn't get out.
just like me .
it's over-through.
what can I say?
I have to get out of here now,
so I willn't be jaded.
most of the bystanders are forgotten now,
through we are still around.
when did you say
' we will turn this place into
a palace? '
it falls from my brain,
it was just like tomorrow.
like tomorrow will never be again.

the bystander Of the corner.

Everyone believes in this-
but what if I didn't?
I am not everyone...
hard to let anyone see that,
that I think this is illegal.
he is beastly, I figure.
do not tease him, my brother.

the jester.

Mine soul is like a prisoner here,
it can not lie here and want.
it makes me wish I was a cherub,
for cherubs do not see.
imply what you will,
for I imagine that you gain in bliss,
when I only can use myself for you.
jaded poet, keep me from you,
these eyes can not turn from you.
I shall tear up when you say
' it's over'...
but like a girl,
I will follow you still.

Talk to me, my cherub.
give your soul and I can tell you
of only minds can hear.
do you partly hang with this?
or do you feel that I am being shallow?
speak to me, my lover,
just like you seldom do.
catch me, hear me, stroll with me,
just be mine.

Through the shadows of ignorance,
there is a dirty cell of madness;
here is my shelter from consciousness,
here is my palace of vast delight.
let me carry on here,
and take the warmth of madness
as a prisoner should.
you say I hide from myself,
and this might be so-
what does it imply?
I can stand if I like,
just not now...
hang my silence as rebellion, if you
will, but just forget me, and leave.

Eternity is rough;
simply needing it is so... tawdry.
consequences set the circle bursting
into broken intentions.
so I turn around to the city,
then I exit.
what now?
will I see what I would not have then?
logic shows me my devotion;
alienation is not grand.
say what you will,
remorse I will always have.

the fugitive.

Guide me through the land of the good,
for I might be lame with rebellion, bring to your secret palace,
that holds the innocent and the evil.
your compassion is my gift,
your love, my essence.
could this be heaven?
say it is, for I could not need you more.
fugitives are we really,
promising those who can hide
a shelter but not much more.
fall not from silence, for then,
it shall be over.
just enter, noone could catch you now...

the friend and the fugitive.

Silver water touches the rocks,
tearing away the ragged decay;
reptiles lie here, wiggling in ecstacy.
ask me my philosophy of this
and I could not know it-
time whispered this pool into grace,
a truth that sings of something more.
so question not this home of awe;
just whisper out knowingly...

Something isn't normal here;
everything lies frozen-
I see nothing,
nothing but fiction...

so this is anonymity,
dirty and blue.
when did I get here?
mannequins, my friends are frozen...

believe, and you will be loved,
leave, and you will be caught...

it's over
it's over
it's over

could I reveal my disgrace;
should I?
gossamer spirits are mine always,
more so when I sleep...

Fugitive am I,
somewhat here,
but only for now...
my time is leaving me,
using me like a prisoner;
selling me out...
so then, what should I do?
tell these monsters what they can not whisper?
life is nothing to me then;
history is everything...
fall with me, if you like-
defend your grace with laughter;
who am I?
my cherub, I am you...

laughter is knowledge;
reason does not give us anything.
we forget instinct these days
and retreat into tragedy.
have we slept through the growth?
have we thought ourselfs out?
may be...
I wish for separate ignorance
today we are more unwholesome
when once we were innocent.
some time we should believe in ourselfs
when we are more kind.
when could that situation reach us?
I can not say,
bliss isn't obvious...

This is not a rebellion;
only a genius may boast that.
this is a challenge,
so then, who would follow you,
prisoner of nothing?

the detective

Enter the shadows if you can,
mention my career to them,
they will not mind;
the villains you dream of
are not last there;
these are the friends,
the lovers, the fugitives.
that isn't to say
they aren't jaded,
for they are-much more then you or me;
everyone there is tarnished,
everyone there is so sordid,
you might run,
but they are not bonded
like you and me...

the robot

Rosy cherubself,
he passes himself off as
a jester sold.

rockets block my song,
act as if they avoid me.
that is what they say.

light reaches my gaze,
jumps on me like a puppy;
delighted as me.

this is not a song,
it just could not be kept as
one of those soft ones.

(four haikus)

Light journeys through this forest,
entering the spaces that laughter,
in it's jaded happiness, touches
seldom; dream of devotion here;
fall into wistful ecstacy that can
not be spoken of in the streets.
sleepy myths are believed here;
when expression is still yours and
mine. Imagine...

Quiet images dissolve into nothing,
gather your flowers if you would,
this is no field for your refuge;
tomorrow, there will be a tempest
of brutal history;
a storm of fire and flesh;
scatter soon if you can;
for by early as tomorrow;
we might be decaying

Infinity is within your decay,
life, in your ignorance;
let us now be human, if you will;
for tomorrow,
we will see the city of limbo...

Fire and foam,
ice and earth;
forget the time of reason;
yield to truth.
promise us blood,
scatter our bones to the dust.
oxygen will eat us,
earth will forget us,
silver should gather us up.
solid gold, the metal of pigs,
has no say on us.
utter these sayings to no-one.
ice and fire,
earth and foam;
promise us this death,
show us our infinity.

(witches' chant)

Let me be
kind, honest,
a poet to those
who can not
say anything.
imagine if
we would
hold the
fugitives
and
lovers
when they
carried us.
stand with me
on this compassion,
let me have
my reasons
some moment
you will hear me,
some storm
will burst up on you,
then you will
know more...

Is culture everything?
does it promise us
results?
will it take our alienation
and generate warmth?
history says it is nothing;
that death will make us;
culture will control our burdens.
only thought can give our hope,
but then, what is thought but theorys?

What is love?
is it a feeling of joy?
is it simple?
is it deep?
what is this myth
we say is love?
could it be that
it does not follow
any theorys that we need?

Take me to the place that time
works not its bitterness.
there we shall sleep in faith
soon and imagine that this hell
grinds not our refuge...

Token personality is what you have;
no substantial ideas are in you.
you grasp nothing of what I say,
but you utter my sayings still.
your smiles lie and declare excess;
your eyes are known for their bitterness
enter no more to this garden of fire;
this is no hole for you.
until you can earn your delight,
reason will pass by you.

Robot lover;
a fleshed out tragedy
with one who has
no blood.
silver and plastic are yours,
degrees of dark flaws...
robot, can you dream?
can you know what truth is?
say then, that you think I am yours,
but lover,
can you be mine?

Snow lies downstairs for you;
madness is sobering here
when everyone has it;
Ivy says we should just hang ourselves;
but what should we do later?
look, I don't matter to you,
nothing ever does...
but when you are the only human
I have got,
your madness matters not;
hear me, my villain,
defend yourself, and
sing your graces just once.

Necessary installments to infinity
have been dreamt of until this instant
when situations over us quietly
reached our motions and arranged for
our waste.

Sawdust figures in broken halls
promise evolution to those who
sleep in strange cells...

they promise you nothing;
they speak to nobody-
never...

who are these monsters?
what do they abandon when
they do this?
do they dream of our kind's
ultimate embodiment?
or are they but glass robots
with nothing to say?

(three viewpoints on one group)

Hide, my cherub, and abandon your gift;
your witches will want you,
your lovers will chase you out;
promise me nothing,
for I am but your robot;
retreat my poet, and mention me to no-one...

Should hope tear us away
from ourselves, we will
only know that you and I,
we were always loved by
only us.
burst into yourself cherub,
hold me like you often did;
then hang yourself with your
intentions...
what will dreams think of
our tragedy that is this period
of truth?
imagine our laughter whispering
in this house-
so then genius,
grasp this challenge and expect nothing

Something keeps me from mentioning you;
something controls my journey
into this great compassion-
will I matter still if I run?
through the circuses of our madness,
there must be a field of infinity.
and if I can, I will run to it-
approach you and say
' have you dreamt of me recently? '

Journey through a neon city,
through the silver prisons
and metal forests.
promise me a razor,
sing with me through the hell;
we shall slip through there easily,
no-one will catch our behavior.

                    (city's end)

Broken affections are grinding me
slowly,
recklessly,
relentlessly;
let me be,
you who bring me decay,
leave-
walk out of my madness,
then shall I write again...

Through the regal shadows,
there is a silver tree;
it has leaves of fire
and apples of gold,
and has flowers that are tea;
if you but pass it by,
the dragons shall sing,
until the gold bursts,
and reveal fire-dahlia rings.

When are you singing,
just like you dreamt of doing,
declaring your feelings
of remorse and love;
who will you retreat to,
when you might have to
if you decide not to,
you may still be my love;
so see me now when
I must ever let
you hold me then
you shall be my love.

torn by myth and alienation,


I burst into tragedy here with out
your simple devotion;
tell me you stand with me,
until the masquerade is done...

Someone is singing well actually to those fellows downstairs just like they ought to but I start falling and I just tear up the shelter that was our palace and nothing will make it up-string!

He strolls without feeling-
that innocent scholar,
waiting for nothing and everything, mostly catching poets
just like a lover
then defending their bliss;
he marches on through the limbos,
taking nothing, controlling no-one,
but if you were to speak to him,
your growth would leave you...

Opalescent corner of eternity,
leave me to the geniuses and magicians;
something gives me reason not to retreat
into the corners that are yours...
seldom do I hide here;
alienation practices its variants on me
burdens ask me to appear for them,
not sensing my labors...
so then, shall I run from here?
shall I whimper off into some country
when it can not bring me power?
the burden of ecstacy is not mine;
it never has been mine,
it never will be...
it's off in the refuge of money
just like life...

Infinity is nothing to me,
for you will never be mine,
what is eternity without you?
your fragility means more to me
but you will not be mine-
I would make you a palace,
wished for by you-
and you are never to be mine-
so should I throw myself to death
will you be mine then,
when I have used myself for you?

Tell me, friend,
is it really you
who loved me for myself?
I, then, was mad
not to have felt it
like you-
I should have grasped it
but didn't
I just thought you
only a friend
say you still love me

A shallow remorse is what I have-
nothing can touch me now;
say what you will-
you are the figure that left me here,
needing someone,
grasping nothing-
are you still passionate, genius?
are you then, still deadly?
these hands have hung villains
and cherubs
these hands are yours-not mine...
I have followed you,
I have reached for your disgraces,
and then, you tell me
you yearned for glory-
leaving me to decide everything...
now you emerge from your institution,
expecting me to love you
when I should throw you out-
it's over for you and me-
leave me now like you did then...
leave...

Dirty gossamer
is what I dream,
gold emerged in dust-
mud on copper;
rare glints of fire
hiding in earth
scattering light,
whispering...

Lately I have been waiting
for your photographs and flowers;
your magic bubbles of tea
and bright glass tokens.
they are but images,
little things that mean
nothing to you,
everything to me.
they make me hopeful
that you will stay here always.

These hopes, anyone could have.
but, for you, they are everything.
they whisper to you quietly,
telling you what you should do.
not that I don't see the faith
you say you have,
I do, but may be you should
imagine a more... golden mercy.
then reason might be yours.

                    (talking with a fanatic)

  Radiant fire yields
  to the silver snow slowly,
  sending
         water
               every
                    place

Brightly spoken theories
scatter my consciousness
in colorful images
bring me my philosophy,
stand twice in the clouds carefully.
happiness is my brother,
he carries me when I can not follow;
he whispers silently to me
when I am leaving his home.
these storms of enchantment
dance suddenly around me,
flowing through my spirit.
what logic can flow like this?

Storms of light fall from the opaque
clouds that carry an essence with them
that says
' I am the monster of the heavens'

                    (clouds)

Are you formed from instinct,
my jaded detective?
could I ever believe you to be mine?
you stand distant from me,
say little-
what ground you to this,
my broken lover?
who tore out your soul?
you might never tell me who,
but, I imagine it was me.

Glass guitars sing brightly
in the silver metal forest,
dreaming of heavens like ours.
they have strings of fire and ice,
that touch carefully when felt.
so dream with us here,
fall into a quiet infinity...

Whisper hope into my ears,
say that you love me for myself.
for features I might have,
they may leave when girlself is gone.
youth paints fiction in lover's souls;
writes bliss on to love.
often this is not so,
for once happiness goes,
love usually tells us to march on.

Leave here,
downstairs, the cherub is falling;
upstairs, the monk is hanging;
in this room, a city is hiding-
through the faults,
over the time,
it might be gathering.
this castle-a prison,
lately hiding the truth,
occasionally carrying the madness.

                    (haunted place)

Hanging gardens of bystanders

dream monster, prisoner of mine,
wait for me silently,
for I may not sing in this field,
just grow here,
strange, silently,
and I can scatter glints
of imaginary love about us.
dahlias and onions
they are but nothing
not onething.
leaden poets do dream of them,
but who are they?
you are my flawed conquest,
my madness practiced
human and flower,
good and evil,
scattering beauty in dark delight...

Something's gathering up dust here,
something deadly, I feel.
it's like an iron human,
with dark claws and beastly fangs.
something's forming tragedy here,
it's telling us of images,
those that should not be kept-
something's slowly seeming,
revealing itself to be...
my broken soul.

                    (soul-song)

But if I should say to you,
'your delight in me is over'
would you say
' not until the rocks yield blood'
or would you say nothing?
I question this...

Ride wild, reckless rascal,
let your rebellion send you
to passionate heavens or prisons.
abandon love,
drive on through the ice and sand.
this joy is not for everyone,
there are those who can not follow,
there are those who can not know.
be dark,
be yourself,
and then you shall love.

again, the minutes race by me.
when did I be come someone serious?
who is this figure that is me?
I don't matter now,
my burdens seem necessary,
my disgrace, not.
grind me up then like the villains
that you are,
then shall I be brilliant. . .

Quietly I exit,
no-one shall draw me,
no-one shall walk as I.
I will not be seen,
I avoid it cautiously;
I will not be heard,
thoughts are my power.
I am death,
quiet and jaded,
ever broken,
always silent.
leave, then, if you must,
but you will always be mine.

silver ice bleeds from my porch,
running through the razors of
bottle-glass
and rocks.
silence hides here in the dahlias,
hopping around the leafs and glass.
foliage sells itself around here,
with bicycles and boxes.
carefully,
gracefully, it gives some remorse
to us

Fiery flowers hang from upstairs,
emerge from gardens and houses.
they grow brightly by the mushrooms-
singing fire into the sleepy earth;
as dragons on a castle-porch,
they yield fire around ice

Forget me not,

I keep your statue mostly for fashion,
your bicycle for variety,
but I do not expect you soon, or ever;
I just... I just...
I just like those toys of yours...
it's nothing,
so then-it's...
nothing...

Written silence,
the scattering of emotions
known to no-one-
you said nothing-
your relics said more...
curiositys from the rafters,
torn, meant for someone-not me
never given...

                    k.a (love letters found)

Thoughts of evil seem to sing here-
like a mouth with no delight...
what imagined creatures gather
in this broken shadowy corner?
wiggling, whispering, scattering,
they creep by us, through us-
not seen...

Slightly stale faith

if I could,
I would whisper truths to you;
but your remorse will not see
what I am saying,
you worry of forces hardly lurid.
paint then your importance
in this hell,
lie just like the everyone who loved
you

Should the violins leave you,
and if the journey hands you exile,
catch your enchantment,
then follow your life's laughter.

                    k.a (fortune cookie's song)

Surly magician,
your flowers are bursting,
your bucket is catching
silent butterflys that are glowing
just like sleepy water showing
the silver fish laughing
at small dragons into terriers turning;
or not...

                    k.a (or not)

Dust wishes itself
to be the flower of what
it could have been

                    k.a (fractured dust haiku)

Iron snakes slither
through circles of envy
eaten by tar dogs

                    k.a (silly haiku)

Incredible kittens declare
' we are not yours! '
who then, is?

Snow butterflys bring
this gossamer-light fang
from the oxygen clouds
that control the crows
who would generate weather
over our hells.

Tequila generation is dreaming of you;
creeping up on you in your evolution
they may leave you, they may want you,
but touch them not, for they are blood...

                    k.a (tequilla generation)

Distant, is it not?
the expression of your soul,
it never was like that until yesterday;
when did you do it?
when did you say you ran
from the force you now lie for?
cherub mine,
you make me seem lively;
whimper and dream while you can,
for this may be the last joy
you will have until death...

                    k.a (song for a fallen cherub)

Imp, magician, villain, lover,
you are everything to me,
approach me with your innocent thoughts,
forget about the time apart from me.
gather your soul to me,
and we will whisper beautys
to ourselfes

                    k.a (faerie's song)

Something passes by me
like an evil not fallen,
like a demon not hidden
it emerges in its broken truth,
but I still have not a certainty
to what it is...

                    k.a (mysterious thing)

Wish you that I would say
I promise you everything?
it can not be,
for I am like the flower
that can not be forgotten,
sometimes looked on,
but never imagined.
say you keep me,
but am I forever yours?

These moments we have,
they forget the affairs
we had with the friends and demons
we occasionally turned to.
who was that dancer that you...
did she love you?
or did she just use you?
like I once did?
we still tease when we don't nag;
will we grind ourselfs into nothing?
may be-but we will do it with mercy...

                    k.a (two old lovers)

Subject to grace

friend of mine,
do you frequently sing?
your mouth's song
is like a radio,
slipping out culture.
practice, and flow-
in time you will be broken...

Certainty of evolution

dream of a silence,
uttered not by friends revealed,
whisper, carefully,
into the wasted hell
that was a cloud of truth;
believe, in anything and everything,
so that what was, is,
and what will be can appear later,
eternity is yours,
what will you do with it?

Oxygen separation

lips with out life,
mouths with out features,
our souls have be come jaded,
sold our bones to the snow,
offered our blood and flesh
to the common dust.
we are at last mind,
with nothing to give us flaws
we are nothing,
we are everything-
we could be a wisp of light
or a metal onion,
but we are not
ourselfs...

Silently, dust falls
flowing into the sullen
light, glinting brightly...

Neon love

something's just not moral about it...
can you watch something like this
a human being bled for truth
when we are just as human as he is?
we are just as honest,
we are just as innocent-
can we not just ask him then?
can't we?

Sweet paper faces,
they lie to you so sincerely,
while using you
like an unwholesome wisp
of fleshy blood;
deadly faces,
those that reach for you
with jaws and nails
receiving your flesh
like sticky champagne;
shallow smiles,
they regard you as nothing,
nothing but gravy and mush,
talking to you slowly,
taking you to the garden,
dissolving you,
inwardly...

                    k.a (hobgoblin poem)

Metal souls

the innocent ones,
tragically moral with their
emotions and culture;
they come to wish us joy,
they regard us as strange, odd,
some curiosity that
seems jaded...
when did we be come like this?
when did we even forget
what we once were?
we were like them, shallow,
but what dreams fell from us,
to bend us until we were broken?
friend of mine, what left us here,
like this, ashen and cold?
would I if I could,
we might forget everything,
the creeping,
the flesh bleeding,
the human blood dropping from the sky;
would I if I could,
but forgetting will not do,
it would tell us nothing,
and leave us here still,
and never reach for us,

believe me,
this knowledge has compassion,
and this burden has its grace...

Light shortage

metal faces and copper souls;
these modern robots are cold,
creepy in consciousness;
they appear... distant,
like a mannequin, implying nothing.
who sent them to us?
will they never take off?
monsters such as these
should enter here never...

                    k.a (robots)

A glass face and an icey brain,
these are the coldthings
that slip into the bitterness of time; stay with us until infinity
closes in on our time.
until then, we will scatter and holler,
follow our faults until
we stand on nothing.

silence,
it is a jaded truth that eats at us; reveals us nothing and everything-
and does so loudly.

light faces and copper chests,
shakythings that we wish for and need;
eternity can not sell them to us,
love will but wear them through.

glass, neon, earth, and blood
these are the modernthings that say
' wealth is nothing! '
' consciousness is everything! '
and just like the silvery face
that I am, and may never be there,
I shall admit not athing of this,
until curiosity's power is through...

                    k.a (poem in four parts)

Dusty songs stroll through us
turn our brains into fire,
when did they slip into us?
we will never roll with out them-
again

                    k.a (dusty songs)

Songs of Alice

gray birthdays and a dusty bed,
these are my sad reasons
to march on in this zoo-
someone said to me once
that I was jaded, and strange-
but if I am, love me still,
let me be your everything.

scatter with me, poet-mine,
hang your hopes by the couch;
make your truths meant for everyone-
already your lover follows you,
your singer, Alice...

Flower images

dahlias whisper kindly,
of broken times and dusty logic;
glass hands they sleep in,
dropping their manes
and dreaming of when
they were once like us,
sleepy and languorous,
in their garden of reason...

Bleeding fire
turning into ice;
calling out to you-
will you help me?
bones yield,
scatter in blood;
carry me from here,
when I am still broken,
consequences will hang me soon,
but we will forget that now...

Silence...

motions innocent spoil the style,
and grace can be so... stale.
should we gather our dahlias
while we may?
decay is bliss,
minutes whisper by us quickly,
and we, not sensing them,
will race to our deaths.
mercy mine, what can we do?
a doom so severe,
something must be done!
feel the births,
touch the bones,
dream of a silence
that emerges from time and eternity
then slip into the deadly song,
leaving your bones here with me...

Sincerely, no-one.

yesterday I got a flower
from a sweet nobody...
he left no thought to
who he was,
no gift but a flower.
is it James?
or could it be Robert?
the dahlia says nothing...

If I were to say
' I need you',
will you take me?
but, should you say
you offer yourself
to me, could I let
myself take you?

                    k.a (a question)

Leaden winter leaves me a silenced,
imaginary eternity,
made with alienation and remorse,
charged up with discontented time;
moments loll off into nothing;
a time of separation has followed
me often here,
dissolving my enthusiasm,
spoiling my grace-
glints of warmth,
they whisper through,
like a cat artfully,
then shouting in rebellion and glory...

Yourself and me,
we run deep into
the water until
we are needing
of sand and mud.

with you here
I can never be
only myself,
I am me with you,
and you-
you are the violin
of infinity's ecstacy.

so let's run into the water
until we are grasping
for gravel and earth
and then shall we
dream of our life
that shall come soon...

Whispers yield to silence,
and here tears into there.
the castle rocks
that boasted of power-
now dust.
the city will soon be a relic,
and our towns, nothing.
logic says,
' it is only time'
but is it?

                    k.a (time)

Glass onions

enter here,
dreams may be yonder;
this is the corner
of reason and eternity;
enchantment is only
upstairs by the chair.
sit, and see for yourself;
there are spaces,
and there are places,
that happiness dances in-
this isone...

If

if, just may be,
you should receive
a fat jaguar
from a strange fugitive,
say something;
it's mine...

In the white ballroom,
there is a paper bag.
in this is a copper key
of mine that starts
the boat.
could you ask the lady there
for it?
I can not drive home
with out it;
Alice and Robert would
have my neck...

                    k.a (overheard conversation)

leafes of copper and fire
whisper over the sandy rocks;
silently they scatter,
following those
that fell be for them.
so are we-
those that scatter
like those that scattered
be for us.

eternity holds us,
only time will
let us be...

                    k.a

Flowers scattered-
gold and copper
with razor-jagged
glass tearing through-

gather them up, you say
they will scatter more
if we don't

do it yourself, I say
the glass will leave me
bleeding

so we took off
with out deciding;
meaning, but never
really...

the flowers are still there
now...

She was who?
yourself at one winter,
when it was silent,
and beauty had been yours-
something that is taken from you
grown into someone hopeful,
as you were then...

Would you like some madness with
your tea?
or some certainty on your bread?
caviar is most elegant with reason,
and bitterness is enough for anything...
so, suggest the tequila with
the philosophy,
but I must have
some reason with my water.

He dreams of his lover,
now but an image
in his decaying thoughts.
she was a dancer,
she was youthful-
vanity with laughter;
but there were reasons,
and there were rebellions,
and so-
she is but a face,
the human is hidden...

Shadows of madness
whisper in the gardens here;
they creep over and on
the silent flowers
and distant statues.
the garden is at once...
a bridge to an innocent hell.

Dust falls on broken forms,
not often spoken of,
they lie away from us,
blood and flesh have already
been driven from the metal;
they once were demons and lovers
dreamt of by those
who dreamed of more.
so now they fall here,
away from everything but dust...

                    k.a (android graveyard)

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