title in english
Fast tummult down to the bottom of the
nearest abyss.
I grab onto weeds & clumps of things but loose my
grip take it
down with me in fists.
Our hearts are an info mercial
we try to sell with anyone with enough much
or enough little or a genius
or a fool.
I am a tornado that tries but keeps eating up
trouble never getting
the gold.
Some mornings the sun is just a therapist trying to
sell some story it ain’t dark all the time.
But I don’t believe it cause
I know what I earn is mine.
& all I’ve got left is the knowledge that we
have to learn
to
write these stories.
& sometimes learning isn’t splashing in pools or a lottery ticket feeling or
children laughing at all
sometimes it’s an empty fall
with nothing to catch you till you drop down hard in
no particular location with
nothing familiar but your own isolation.
Now, let me
tell you some morning there is chance in
the trees but you
would have to believe
to really see it that way.
