child of snow

the streets whisper in secrets to me, finally. i felt like dropping down and begging. drinking clear water from a creek in dalmatia. or waking up as a child of snow in some soldier's arms in the times between.
rocking softly back and forth i hear the streets rustling, like leaves in fall. there is a moon over manhattan and my eyelids drop heavily over the cobblestones and histories past. churches are ducking away under big towering buildings that speak of loudness and consume and death to the indians.
it is hardly silent in this church and i hear my tears drop inbetween the rumbles and bumbles of the subway in the subterranean. listening to the inside thoughts stumble over each other and rush one another like the people outside the streets. slowly dwindeling down to some humming and finally a sigh. i get to see everything from a distance. the coat i fell in love with and the dresses, the ridiculous electronics and boots and pumps and everything. it all doesn't matter.
the next day i meet an old man on the street. he is buying something to eat and we smile and start a conversation that ends in his loft on broadway avenue with him playing the piano in ways that make my heart stop and us improvising music that resides inside.
he tells me stories about the origins of the blues and the stories of the many faces in the streets.

you are distant and faint now and we shared a good laugh when he asked me about you. he said, this reminds me of that joke of two jewish ladies meeting in a park. the one asks the other, how are you, and she answers with a heavy sigh. when she is asked in return, she also sighs and the other lady says, hey, i thought we agreed on not speaking of our sons again!

he said i had just such an expression when he asked me about you. i do love the roma though. and everything that reminds me of you. the visions of johanna and greenwich village, indeed.

now there is another man in another country who is not aware of anything or maybe too much. it s good to sleep.

i was a child of snow in his arms and we fell into the skies, upside down, into the skies.

roadtripping

her pressed against the car and the wind is blowing.
thoughts of the once beloved drift and fade -
she is warm, she is real, she breathes in your hair and sighs sweet affirmations in your ear.
the sky is wide, heaven far and the vastness of the land overwhelming.
small little dirty motels remind you again but you push the thought aside and feel strangely moved as you watch her squeak happily as she drops down on the freshly made bed, spreading her legs like wings.
short and painful, the regret and the guilt, you on a roadtrip but not with the once beloved one.
it's her now
and she is warm, she is real, she breathes in your hair and presses her cheek in the dent in your chest. she lies her head on your shoulder like a child and she is a woman and she is wild.
you pull out the bottle of redemption and remind yourself why you took her along. why she took you along. why you are doing this. making up for past wounds. for twists and turns and because she has born with you.
so did the wild child
but
she is warm and she is real.
you have to forget all this. you have to let go. the wild child is happy now, wherever she goes.

angel

She fell way deeper than I did.
And she fell hard.
It's not like I had to be there to understand her and what does that mean, anyways. Fully comprehending her is beyond any of us.
She was the muse and the angel, the falling one.
When he looked her in the eyes, he knew but she didn't care. It had corrupted her mind, her soul already so far, that she couldn't feel any warmth permeating through. She was cold and cold she felt, dismissing his words like pennies and tokens.
Beggars, so her words fell like razorsharp swords, beggars will pick up the pieces, and left.
It was another one who picked her up, way later, in a shady room in the maze of the old brewery, her eyes rolled back into her skull and her tongues shivering in jibberish, pale, so pale she was and so skinny, retreating from her physical body like a tired army in defeat.
But, she had wanted to taste the utter senselessness of defeat in a battle that wasn't hers. She had wanted to go so far, so far down into the innermost chambers of hell's luciferic disguise, she had wanted to be saved maybe, and she was, somehow, and in a way.
When I met her again the scars had healed all the way through, she was still sticky like glue but she walked upright and tall, as tall as her little body allowed her to, anyways. Her savior was still with her, every now and then, she told me how she had to light herself for him like a tired old moist match, every time she met him.
Once the flame burns, she said, it's warm.
Warm, once it burns.
Often she was too tired and a little too cold and then he had to light her, once, twice, three times. Add some tinder, add some tender, then it would go.

She was the angel in the old abandoned armybuilding, the one curled up on the round window sill like a little cozy vulnerable cat, the one discussing issues of health and education with a fervor I had missed in so many people.
So natural, so gracious. And when she danced, she moved the air in waves that hit the beholder like a smooth fireglow and when her lips met yours it was like melting, so it was.

And when I look in the quiet of the nightriver, when I throw my eyes into the sullen skull of this starlit sky, then I think of her and how we know each other, hold each other in a comforting distance, know each other in our darkest facets and the brightest heat of love and light.

She fell way harder than me. Further and harder. She bares the marks on her limbs and deep scars in her soul. But we have in common the courage to go and see, the sickening curiosity and fascination to visit the other side, where we know we don't really belong. The knowledge that we are but wanderers.
Wanderers between worlds.

Angels falling
Falling wide

the dark side of the moon

You're a big girl now
says he
and Dad says it too
he just meant it in a different way
he meant that I came through
and now he can see how I grew

But I am lingering still
it's at the dark side of the moon
ah, my heart swoons,
this pain it stabs and stings
and there is no time
at the dark side
it's frozen
no warmth
to bring it back to flow

I walk the streets
in my life
sort of hollow
words don't mend
and touch can't explain
it just throbs and quivers
my soul
fastened to a stone

Everything that is possible
and new better things to rise
the horizon just drafting along
the now inexplicably ignorant
to changes that might come

I'm going out of my mind, oh, oh,
With a pain that stops and starts
Like a corkscrew to my heart
Ever since we've been apart.