Its time the stars started aligning, its time the sun started showing signs of crossing the horizon, its time the moment appeared omnipresent, its time the world tilted 45 degrees east, its time for time to show its concern over the little playboys of our derelict mansions...

The synapse frightens
the temple of my highs
the blood making shapes in my sky

The rope tightens
the neck of my eyes
the blood drawing colours on my skin

The bridge brightens
the faults of my cries
the blood destroying the time on my hands

One day...

One day we will look into a light
And stop blinking
One day we will set sail into the night
And stop thinking...

Surface of my face

There is a silent sun waiting in the raptures of the moon. The phases of the fog are moving in perpendicular to the surface of my face. All this time I waited patiently for the sheep on the hill to disappear into the clouds. The moment is here, the diminishing effect recesses back into the tides. Closing out our worst possible nightmares and bringing the silent sun back into focus.

What am I looking into?
The surface has changed its shapes and created myriad landscapes waiting to be seen. The moment has brought with it the realism and the surrealism. There is nothing for me here, there is nothing for me there. Everything has to be within this one composite whole, the whole we call man. Inside there are shrines, inside I am holding a candle and waiting for it to stay true to itself and just be a giver of light. Providence meaning nothing at all. What gives? I ask. The three little circles in my heart have names, they are complete within themselves, they are spiraling downwards into the abyss. The horseman comes with news of another life. News from another world beyond ours. Ethereal in its illumination, I stay visceral and sensorial at all times. Open to hear the water smile…