bienvenue

a new friend i did meet
although not how you'd think
no pleasantry or handshake
but a bienvenue in our way

Rational & Spontaneous - Their Weekend Away

Rational,
a self-confessed Norwegian,
(true name Monotone)
talks Werner Herzog.
0802 train to Paris.

Across the table
a self-confessed Frenchie,
Spontaneous
(true name middle-class despair).
They just met.

Rational & Spontaneous
their weekend away.

Spontaneous starts loudest,
- a shrill fanfare. Rational
is slower, hesitant. Each brought
baggage. Two bags of clichés.
They unpack.

Syllable vêtements, cast off.
By the end only
socks of "que sera sera" and
g-strings of "reap what you sow"
remain.

All is gone, now just the clothes
on their backs. Despair
takes control. Panic
stricken faces
"is this really us?"

Rational starts. Oh, he's
"romantic", as he drops his
pants. He goes quiet, stares
out of the window
bollock naked.

Spontaneous follows suit,
whips of her bra in her new
formative logic manner.
They both look
chilly.

Rational & Spontaneous
their weekend away.

Solitude, Quiet and Reflection - Part 1

After you left
I couldn't be alone, even
in my own head.
Silence destroyed me.

Twenty-four hours
a day I bathed in noise
and distraction. I rinsed
with human stimulation.

In every scene Solitude
stood behind a door
that was slightly ajar and
he, peeping in.

Sometimes tapping on
windows or sliding
from under the dinner table,
yanking on my laces.

Solitude brought Quiet
and together they danced
on our graves to
a tuneless rhythm.

I dreaded the Abyss
where Solitude and Quiet
patiently drank tea,
waiting for my arrival.

In that place Reflection
also lived and she
was a mirror,
the image of you.

All the time i wretched
to think of Solitude, Quiet
and Reflection,
reminding me.

Sparrow

In my dreams
there is a rendezvous
with a sparrow.
We meet between
a cinema
and candy store.

Sparrow your nose
I behold
a parallel piquant.

In my dreams
there is a rendezvous
with a sparrow.
We sip tea,
steam rises,
with softly spoken words.

Sparrow your eyes
I chew
a sticky soul toffee.

In my dreams
there is a rendezvous
with a sparrow.
We part between
a cinema
and candy store.

Sparrow your cheek
I kiss
- I, awake?

Her and Him

Her: “We will speak later?”
Him: “Maybe...”

Her looks shocked.
Things might happen
between now and later.
Him could run away,
Meet a fiery Italian,
Move to Rimini
Marry,
Eat olives.
Live to a 103 years-old.

Before later comes
a disaster could strike.
Him's bus explodes -
hit by a falling satellite.
Europe loses MTV
for an hour.
Her? Him forever.
“Him said 'maybe',”
Her tells the press.

Perhaps Him sits, staring
Out the steamed up
Rail-replacement bus window
watching Her walking off.
Thinking,
“Her bestowed a forced kiss
on me.”
It cuts Him deep.
Now was too much - no later.

Her: “We will speak later?”
Him: Silence