Crow Dreams

I’m dreaming crow dreams in my nest of blankets, soft as midnight down and warm as the memory of summer; I’m sleeping the slumber of black feathers dancing around me, speaking of hot-springs in murmuring tongues, rolling words of spring blossoms inside sleepy beaks; forgetting the day but for the warmth of sun and wind in the leaves, mindless but for a memory of soft brown furrows, for sand and soil and dreams in trees.


We’ll be midnight riders of the blackened winds, when the mindgames are over and storm-wars are won; when we’ve tamed all the high winds and tossed the reins aside to fly side-saddle over the raging forest and straddle the clouds to race every gale; bridleless hunters on thunderstorms we laugh at lightning while chasing the rolling seas, from crumbling towers to ancient tombs we’ll ride through green tunnels over steep mountain slopes, from night to night and from sea to sea; riding out of the ruins of old rulers’ nightmares, rebuilding the world of everlasting winds.

Black Pegasus

Why would you wish for a unicorn,
this sparkly spectre of pearly needles,
stinging you with blinding glamour and pain,
pure and gentle but a trickster;

When you could ask for a winged horse,
a pterippus black as night,
to mount the shadows,
the dark pegasus, unbridled,
wild, so wild, but true;

So why wouldn’t you choose the companion
who’ll give you the sky
and carry you to pluck desires
from eclipsed outer moons,
as untamed as your wildest dreams.

Fissured Reality

Fine fissures in reality,
I’m slipping backwards though a crack in the wall,
The curtain is down
And you believe I’m still there;
You see a shadow of a doubt
Imprinted on the theatre smoke,
Mirrored in glass hulls of sunken ships
You see what you believe to be true.


And we’ll meet in the middle
When we’ve crossed all the rivers
And found out the riddles
That lead to the common ground;
And we won’t be the same
As we come from the corners
Of different times
And the planes that are folding;
And we’ll find a shared way
And the shoreline of morrow
On the ceiling we cracked
Above all the divergence, converging

Machine Magicians

Machine whisperers
deleting old and building new
coaxing algorithms into whirring life,
set in motion by the hands of binary magic,
peeking through fingertip-hearts,
around the corner of your eye
and brickwall sighs;
Weightless cogwheels
turning and counting,
mulling over numbers
and setting the sun,
on days without bodies
in touchless space;
Glamour of loops
in the guts of old frames,
set back into timed-out recesses
in invisible walls,
raining on cables
the hulls of ideas
freed out of context
and old metal bars.

Word Fire

And words will be offered,
Like gold to the stream;
Washed away by the current
And sinking to the bottom of the river;
Words will be found
And words will be lost,
Like solitude and wanderers,
Ignus fatuus, is it you or me?
But ah, we’re lost yet not confined
To walls of silence and labyrinth thought;
And words will be treasured,
Like shadows unearthed and turnt into light;
Path markers recovered
And you’re on your way,
Through moorland unharmed
And with a word-fire guide in your heart.

On and on

Just another country song,
just another thought-stream passing by,
a bale of hay rolling downhill,
lost in spring,
December memories,
and we go, we go on
just another day,
just another sunrise behind dusty clouds,
another turn, another spin
on the same old story,
and on and on we go,
country songs in city walls,
another longing look
and gone, and gone we are
here in concrete land
country songs in eulogy,
for death of old, for death of new,
and on and one it goes
uniform in days and haze,
dust in layers, on and on,
city songs, city thoughts,
moment over, song passed by,
return to what you did