A vague
but recurring
attraction

to nothing at all


A Parus major
tapping the glass
at this scribbling instant

by the head of The Great Ship of Dreams

light streaming in
changing the words
that trickle



Standard reactions
make up my organic penitentiary

Birds are not free
from the chains of the skyway

Elementary particles
and waves of energy
portray me
in this sketchy cosmos
of images

soon rinsed off the glass
by the lukewarm showers
of impermanence

The Parus major taps
yet another stretch of morse code
behind my head:

”No one to be,
No spirit hovering over the water”

Existence a deceptive retrospect,
vague,
shimmering
in no one special;

no one at all