Beliefs and Nightmares

The twilight believed in the day,
The desert believed in the mirage,
The drowning man believed in a piece of straw
floating by,
Leviathan believed in his King…

As the deafening silence echoed across
the stone corridors at night,
The eerie martyr believed in his blood…

Time, running between Zero
and Eternity, was fading by
the mossy wetness of the dark
womb of historical absurdity, of
angels, demons and fireflies,
of mice, of men, of leeches and maggots…

When a flash of Light blinded the mind
of the Creator, the Created and everything
else in tenterhooks and hindsight
Hope got trampled down the staircase
of Odessa
Faith was dangling down a vicious
greyhound’s teeth,
with dripping blood and chlorine…

Stories of life and death, of hope and
butchery took birth, floating by the
absinthe of fire and mayflower…

Laughter ran high, cutting through
the remnants and the ruins of the
bedouin bridge that once joined
the entrails of Gargantua and
Pantagruel
Shattering the mockery of
Innocence, of Time and Death
The scorched earth, filled with
the sullen temerity of conceptions,
development and Destiny…

Deathly whispers flew around
the fireplace, riding high on the
wings of suicidal moths
The single moments trembled on
the rainbow of the timeless times
and the rhymeless chimes of sonority…

The dice rolled
We were burning
And our collecive beliefs -- those
were burning too --
Burning in the cold blue neon light…

Life – left dry, hard
bitter and cold, with the first
pain of birth…
High by the progenies of
supposed miracle
the single room,
with its walls covered by
tattered pictures of Cactus
and cobwebs eating through
the tentacles of the morose
awakenings…
waiting for the day,
or at least for light
Might be the sun, might
be electricity…

Hazy fragments and tuberculosis
from benzaldehyde or Kekule
dreaming of snakes and Freud
dreaming of his mother…

The lonely nights keep us awake
And whispers, moans, screams
and tolling church-bells
which only we can hear in the
darkness drop down from
the bleeding heavens to our
burning foreheads…
Darkness takes the shape of
Fairy Godmother and pays
her nightly visits to Cinderella
to collect her dream-rent and
belief-rent…

Darkness, Fairy Godmother, Freud…
Faithless screams and burning passions
take the concrete yet abstract
shapeof belief
As moss grows on the corpse of
one whole generation lost
in the sea of directionless tidings
and the same videotape being
played backwards over and over…

Cras credemus, hodie nihil
Cras credemus, hodie nihil
Cras credemus, hodie nihil

Porcupine, porcupine, porcupine…