god comes and he spills my dame blond shoes on the floor..-

mom told me not to write poems about god so I don't anymore
just as god doesn't write poems about me on his front-garden door
"look at the lilies!" mama said to baby-me "look at the lilies
that god grows in his front-garden; look how they all bow on their lily-knees!"
"but mama" said baby-me "why do all the lily-mouths say always please?"
"because" mama said "a bended knee, means a humble plea"
"humble", to baby-me, sounded like a hubba-bubba bubblegum bumblebee
so baby-me said, "if I'm ever gonna have a hubba-bubba bubblegum bumblebee
I'm gonna name it humble!" so mama said to me - the baby "but honey,
never forget that that which squeezes honey, also stings its thorns so deeply"
but baby-me didn't hear this for a nosey fly flew through my nose
into my loose-laced baby-blue shoes and lounged on the floor playing poker
while it blew smoke-rings through jacks of spades and queens of hearts
"i don't like flies" frowened I, the baby, to mama "their wings smell of pee."
"so you would feel that you're-in danger and that they spread history of feecees and urine"
the voice of moma flowed free as the sea in my ear
"why can't fleas be like bumblebees?" baby-me, posed the inquiry to momma.
momma slowly turned towards me and droped down on both knees,
("momma is a lilly!" is what the baby which was me thought upon the sight)
layed her petals on my shoulders and her pistil in my pupils
and the ovule of her mouth spoke as thus:
"for god made both flowers and feecees, both bumblebees and fleas,
 flowers and feeces sharing the same earth - flowers feeding ferrets,
ferrets freeing feecees, feecees fertilizing fields, fields forming flowers -
bumblebees and fleas sharing the same flight - flight for fleas, flight for bumblebees-
but although all these, never will we find a flea float for a flower
nor a bumblebee flee foreby feecees"

now momma-lilly lays in the front-garden with all the other knees of lillies;
and I - no more a baby - I lounge on the floor at the front-garden door
playing poker while blowing smoke-rings through jacks of spades and blonde queens of dame hearts
while writing poems about god
and waiting for the hubba-bubba bubblegum bumblebee named



sleeping naked
tonight i dream
to discover
what color my skin is


The story of the happpiest and saddest man on earth

After 6 months he meets with his girlfriend in an old familiar town. They set an hour and a meeting place. All day, he is psyched to meet her at, let's say noon, 12 o'clock. He buys chocolates, flowers, whatever, and at 12 he arrives there and sees her on the other side of the road. She spots him too. They run to each other. They hug in the middle of the road. A car enters the story and crashes them both.

Next day, at the hospital.

She died. He didn't.

He did lose his memory though. Of everything that happened only that day.


Several years later, the man still gets up in the morning, taking the same costume, buying chocolates,
the same flowers, with the same eagerness and happiness harvested in 6 months that now has grown wild, crazy, mad crops, and goes to the same location, at the same time, waiting for the same girl.

The same girl that died in his embrace, crashed by a car several years ago.

Each and every day, the happiness slowly scrubs itself off of his heart with every passing minute, the same confusion instals everytime at the same passing 39 minutes, the same people looking at him, knowing everything he's going to do without him knowing, the same bench he sits on when dispair settles in his soul-sofa, the same places he goes asking about her, the same hand on his shoulder of a man that has to tell him something, the same hospital room he's placed in, the same look in his eyes as he hears the same story of his love, the same pictures of the car crash site, the same death in her eyelid dancing, the same tear in his eye trembling, the same denial and the same "why?" unawnsered, the same sadness of a world in awe, the same collapse against the same cold wall, the same dream that she's not there at all.


Several hours later, the man gets up in the same another morning.