to travel per chance to live

i yearn to travel with purposelessness to a feathery-clad heaven
and sleep on palm trees that bare freedom -- meandering
around the tips--
i carry the evening sky in a bottle, strawberry-flavoured
sweet as a shimmering romance on sparkling springs
echoing beethoven’s schicksal

a line

Let’s make it a bit more complicated, shall we: your soul, a pavement -- open, bare, concrete; my soul, a cloud —- translucent, light, intangible.

...

i have concluded that the centre of my life is not whole, but a self-disguised universe full of blurry stars and a hand-woven moon. this "centre" lies in the corner of the sleeping house of sleepy souls and sleepless nights. within in it, i’m nearly opened and as lucid as an opaque glass filled with fog.

at night

i have a pristine mind with memories growing like fungi, mossy. my cerebral twigs slightly detached, but stacked up on top of one another, like stairs. thoughts, like green leaves, spread out, until tinted with ashen gold.

questions

there are questions waiting, ready to jump off my tongue whenever you pass by. your warm smile, distant: a fairy tale. what makes you happy? do you think of the endless starry sky at night? will you bare your soul to me? what language do you own? do you shudder at some thoughts? what thoughts? do you ever plunge into nostalgia? what do you call home? a home? what makes you smile?
but there are some inconsistencies you see, or perhaps you don't. i hope you don’t mind, but i touched your heart, despite my hesitations and fears, as i’ve always wanted to, with some mumbling and fumbling in the dark, but it was ice cold.

elongated sigh

inexplicable internal wounds sigh
after sigh after sigh after sigh after
birth
marks slight turbulence of half erected clichés—perhaps my worst sin—rise like barbed wires along the spine
less worships of half-emptied mutterings

emotional wreckage

mind befuddled by strange sightings of a heart colliding with sharp tongues applauding pale limps collapsing beneath a zooming train