21 06 2066

https://open.spotify.com/collection/tracks

In water the taste of bread
That is the skin
The skin that has no voice
That has no inner light
But like the water and the moon
Is all reflection
Of what we imagine
The light of definition
Thrown back at the eyes
Surface
The watchtower made
Of a shape in rain
And pointing
Like a finger
To where the smoke will always
Go
After the burning
And the way the clouds
Say nothing all the time
The more I stare
But won’t be one thing
Ever.
…………..
He wanted the sun and moon,
Ever, only.
He wanted the sun and moon,
Ever, only.
The wind lies asleep in his head.
The word in his hand.

The grass talks again and again
With its words rolled and rolling
Like a rushed language as always
Falling into tomorrow
With a world that keeps turning
Over into the dark.
…………..
In every watchtower
Lies a souls screaming
To be light
And whose pain
Is thirsty like the rain

In every watchtower
Is the forgery of man and woman-
A heroic shape looking towards the horizon
Where the enemy never comes
One person who believes
They are chosen
Or are the light because of
Their own mind.

Here emotion has no final shape
But in what some call nightmares
You will see your grandparents
And they will try to tell you something
And there are the shapeless forms
Of the other world
That don’t care about definitions.
Like toys they hover on the edge
Of a room and say nothing
In spoken language.

___________________--

i like being done

felt like i am the best 

so many

colour left thin a soul for you

to see how they make them show up as so many sights

to how change can make a new stamina

swelling

harmattaning the sea

come here 

come here to the lighthouse

it laughs at the sea

i know the hard

burning of stones

when you revolve

around an ever

turning hellfire

unscathed

because forward the light pulls

i am coming to the watchtower

after i get there we must all tell

our children stories

there at the bottom of a boiling well

multi-coloured gods stay with their only

many faces of satan

i am coming to the watchtower

i can only call you just another chameleon satan

tell them the children

i was riding on a brassy air created by waves and once and roads and to them i said they are coming too slow…

a pain to climb 

for all of our days

tell them the children how many mountains becomes a simple pimple

tell them the children how we were such good friends to all the people that were lonely like we were

an incessant blur 

engines that also are of another far-off circle

some kind of light

you are at at the watchtower

death is still the faraway sound from the road

tell the children it is very heavy

lighthouse-watchtower i am still coming

your fire is always pretending.

i am wise

they told me already where we are is as violent as the bounty promised by hope when it comes with its waves

ons het gedagte….