One, two, three, four,

Midnight on the treadmill

Time and

space stand still

But the mind explodes

and throws up,

images,

wrinkled and crumbled

fused into each other

mixing with

the bouzouki

and the

electric guitar,

insolence

to all that is sacred.

What is sacred?

 

Like an ape

looking for flees

on his partner’s head

I dig through the images one by one,

Place them side by side and

make sense

of the ridiculous and

the sinister.

I am a wild dog biting

into its flesh,

a wounded jackal

nearing its end,

a cold

and dark sun,

frozen time.

 

There is no blue

and no white

no more,

and the waves that reached the shore

were dead,

my seagull a phantasm of

the past,

sweet one legged creature,

in a harbor he awaits

and I on the treadmill

I am running still.

 

Fivos R Drymiotis 10/25/2005