Water-carrier

Why do I contemplate?
Thoughts are boomerangs with razor edges
and the craven me raise the arm
instead of exerting the carotid

fossilized wounds to drug
on the Antarctica of Scott
malpractice for the archaeologist
oracle for the dreamer

those with wisdom
to compare their beards on my back
wishing I had eleven fingers
so they avoid inventing a new spell

and the new beginning that ended
but soon starts over
pebble in the ocean
that will drown the Himalayas

anguish..! to the losers
woe..! to the sleepers
grief..! to the contended

wishful thinking
for the next step to be lower.

Heaven is here
concealed in my effort to make you mine

in the tea the boss offered me
while my freezing hands were feeding cars with gasoline

in the snowball you casted at me

in my naughtiness to get wet while playing by the sea
despite your whining to keep my self dry

in the murmur of the wind through the tree-leaves

in the waves breaking by the shore

in the frosty summer lager

in your warm body
and in your complaint about your chilly butt

in the sunset

in the sunrise

in the crescent moon
being filled by my effort to make you mine.

I feel the sign of something different
I get the sense of something strange
I see you changing day by day
the love we have begins to faint

there’s another man to take you round
to lead you through the night

you’re cold in bed just like you’re missing
from what we do the very time
there’s something wrong with your love kissing
I think you are not no longer mine

there’s another man to take you round
to lead you through the night

I feel the wheel in my hands loosing
my life I can no more run straight
the snake begins to chew its tail
until the head only remains

there’s another man to take you round
to lead you through the night.

See me at the end of the night
tryin to ride the first day’s beam
tell me I’m the best knight
in the world you’ve ever seen

call my name when you’re among the Gods
help me live in the endless time
pave me a way to get through the odds
to chase a glory which is totally mine

horses with wings I have for army
fire arrows against wooden swords
fighting to me is a journey
to well known and familiar worlds.

I depicted a typical attic
wooden, triangular
with spider webs

cedar piratical chest
bound in bronze brocade
concealed from the garret’s ailing light

the urge rose deliberately mistaken
to lurch in the trunk’s open mouth
the oil lamp that aged the recalls
and drew the tracks of shadows

yet, the used-up airhead me
taking five steps ahead and receding three
filled ditches and tore barriers
for the hands to turn the pages

but the worst of all
as if I were ignorant to know
happy memories made me weep.