Reptilian Poetry

Prefect

Like the autumn season
the stars light us,
as we walk, alone,
apart,
and the stars will not guide us
together in their dark quiet.

The weeping willow
turns its face upwards
in the cold wind.

For a change

Beneath the buried skull,
a quiet snake lies
ringed around it,
fangs to its tail.

There is no hope
without the snake
of death.

Death guides hope,
there is no other way.

Cry

In the dark hours,

the moon is the earth,

the light is the sea

that is now on earth,

like the tides that sweep

like the repose of air.

In the solitude

of the dark hours,

the moon is the earth,

the light repeats

like a circle,

the earth repeats

like a circle,

the sea is a circle,

the air reposes.

The sound of flutters

is like the birds,

the sound of birdcall

is like the gecko.

From earth, to sky,

the gecko moves like a stream,

and calls.

There are whispers on the air and walls,

symbols like the gecko.

From earth, to sky,

the air we see

is scaled.

The land, the gecko climbs,

to grasp at the air

it cannot reach.

Light

Air climbs

the building

like the gecko.

Quietly it calls,

quietly abates.

The gecko screams

in the lonely room,

the dark room,

like an archetypal fear.

In the dark,

with cries like laughter,

the reptile hides.

Mistflower

Lying in silence
as if to speak,
softly,
in some way.

Lying in silence,
as if to speak,
softly,
in some way.

Lying in silence,
as if to speak,
softly,
in some way.

Smoke

In the cracking light
tired, yet silent,
the spider finds his way.

Path

In this broken road,
on the outskirts of town,
the lights in the air
are misty.

Like a hologram,
the wind blows softly as if listening,
the wind blows, though none
ask where.

Silenes

The silene in your silence,
what is its call?
Does it speak
if you do not?

The whisper in the cave,
in the darkness of caves
it hides itself
in the wind,
and few would tread there.

Stars

Why is the light of stars
quiet in sunlight?
The wisps of air
flutter by,
the wisps of fire
flutter by,
the butterflies
flutter by.

All the world waits
for a sound
that cannot shine out,
except it disappears elsewhere.

The cry of the gecko
hides in your heart,
does it not?

Process

In the welcoming
candlelight,
the jackal flickers
like shadows.

The mechanical star
whispers softly,
then fades out,
to nothing,

as the process of art
should.

Tail

Pretentiously (?), the tail
is left.

The reptile moves away,
you find this.

Like a starlit crucifix, like Rome in years BC,
the tail is left here,
quietly.