Life paths

 

So listen to everything that is buzzing

and give a taxi home

to count the sentences

you have heard during the day

when you shouted very loudly

and spoke the time

you touched native language behind the veil.

A gift one must say it was

you carried a shovelful and stirred tissue

from the family tree

rock by rock you ate presence

and the nights asked you

if your speech was the sound of ocean

the foaming desire and the restless sound

and much more than that 

the naughty tissue of your second birth.

The harvest eats your hesitation and your doubt

completely groky presence 

                of recognized happiness

completely groky presence of enigmatic heaviness.

You also banged the thick silent reeds

the sooty typos of tottering towers

and much more than that you ask cheekily

for birth tissue and to be born again

that's how you reach your goal.

Up where we suck deep

and give a taxi home

and the gifts are webs of swirls

and we suck green pots

eat again eat once more

and float through nights

even teeth start to whine in tears

and the sound of the ocean's roar

pulls the shuttle through your eye.

Another world's sound 

dives through the tissue and asks and sucks

it is the palate that even in its own words 

lifts the body of mighty rock

a light of light lifts your tissue 

above the dog sled

just for you

and lifts the moss a millimeter above the rock

and detaches itself 

from the saved touches your rough tongue

so that you are ignited in twinkling inner flames

and lifts you deep and moved above the deep.

You remember the gift of the pots

you take the light of tissue with you

and you choose to open yourself 

              to the next question

you rise up foam-born and the sound is heard

fables of grace

and you hail a taxi home

to your drawer you pull

its gift of riddles that will be snowing

and the gifts rise in swirls from green pots

like lone seagulls in the night.