The Sad Cactus

Born again – as the rain falls, explaining itself, securely.

It asks:

“Who am I to defeat the objectivity curve – to rattle the cage of the dawn – unopened, ridiculed, soothed and strummed?”

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Exquisite lovers, hopelessly recovered, entwined, straddle a railway line. They are filled with optimism.

A clothed optimist cycles his sad bike down a winding, exquisite country lane, calling to the birds of mystery:

“Hey , who are you to apply your criteria to plates of sad cactus?”

Call me … but only as the crow flies.

First, create an airport departure lounge, decorate it with a thousand yellow watering cans and sign it in the top left corner in gold lettering.

Next, with no climatic considerations, plant it at the center of a field of a thousand red sunflowers, sprinkle it with potash and from a respectable distance, watch it grow.

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The Concrete girders span

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the 2 concrete girders span the Atlantic Ocean … 2 hybrids are crossIng them on all fours flaming torches stuck in the back pockets of their paint-stained overalls.

” lts hard to balance today, Jack” shouts Jules.

” Yes, Jack, l find this hurricane force wind a little disconcerting’ ”

” Yes, Jules …  and, to be quite candid, I wish these concrete girders were a little wider. The width of a matchbox doesn’t leave much room for manoever … ”

” No, Jack … and this hurrican force wind buffets us relentlessly .. we have to be circus balancing acts to stay on these two extremly narrow girders! ”

” Yes, Jules, and crawling hundreds of miles to the other side without sustainance ,  shelter, or even a tea- break … well it gets me quite irritated…”  ”

“Me too, Jack … its all I can do to stay on this narrow girder… ” yelled Jules, above the crashing of waves and the  thundering of the gale…

The hurricane-force wind continued to irritate the two balancing, slowly inching their way forward, hybirds, dressed in their, by now, soaking wet overalls.

l am sympathetic

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l am sympathetic . I am a Camera Obscura. I raise the bar each time you reach for an orange juice. l just have to create… if I don’t get time during the day because I am cycling around this flat, tilted city of Amsterdam where the canal boats promise  magic and the romantic,  fairy tale houses, tilted and ancient hide people in the hells of other people’s of nieghbor’s ciggarette smoke and noise, from above , below and from  all sides  …from house to house l cycle,  teaching people guitar and piano … and finding an obscure cafe to sit in, but not long enough to write a poem, only to do my admin, then l will lie in bed, all night and write on my galaxy note 2 miracle of a phablet ancient verse and plum the depths of my soul and create… because l have no choice… l have to . -. and this is what I just did. no sleep. BUT l created!!  x

I’ll keep on writing no matter what

I’ll keep on writing no matter what :  for myself and myself alone … balanced on the edge of tomorrow, a horoscope in one hand, a banjo in the other … l’ll keep on writing , no matter what … and if l have no pen, I’ll write the poems in my head!

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I’ll keep on writing no matter what!

I’ll keep on writing no matter what :  for myself and myself alone … balanced on the edge of tomorrow, a horoscope in one hand, a banjo in the other … l’ll keep on writing , no matter what … and if l have no pen, I’ll write the poems in my head!

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