minor arcane

don't hurt me
I'm not in the mood
of healing from you

run away
of telepathic contact

your hair and my fingers
run stop run
my fingers
run
the blue
in the face of the drowned

satellite dishes
domes
umbrellas
my fingers running
in your hair
drained
of all the water
from the rain

keep my books
In the shelf
keep my face
on the shelves
of the memory
keep the flavor
of my fingers
running your hair

Investigation
about the blue
in the face of the drowned

lost track of you
when you were light
now I revolve
the drawers and
I write letters
I forgive you all the rest
for being meager
of endless blues

so many blues
blue in the veins
that pulsate open
blue in the background
of the crying eyes
blue in the winter skies
and in the teeth
of the guardian of hell

eternal blues
many
blue under the tongue
of the cat
in the feathers of birds
and the mold on the bread

the blue
in the face of the drowned
the blue in the face
of the abandoned
the blue
in the face of the drowned
on hands or feet
of the forgotten

huge blues
like the blue
in the face of the drowned
tense
immersed blues
lines of a poem
without end.

silence
arrival

where the birds hide
when the sun sets
and the river loses its current
where... they hide
in this deep night
without direction...


PAR