Peeling seconds

my coat and boots

are left dancing hollowly

when drunks sway on the highways

and the woods have dried up

            in a raspy voice arms outstretched someone

            proclaims the kingdom of satan has arrived

            a whistle plays alone

            seeking someone to play it

I know it is what it is

and isn’t what it’s not

but every night at around eleven

I chew my lips ragged

out of fear of the coming deaths

cold sparks rest on eternity

that’s how he can tell

but I’m warm at the moment

because I hold in trembling hands

the hot heart of the world

dooon’t bottle it up

dooon’t bottle it up

but kiss its throbs and drink its blood

tasting that the blood is red and the grass is green

and trees are in leaf for less than half a year

is that so thatso huh huh

a crust spreads over the city with each passing day

then you burn like a snail in fire

scritch-scratch close the final slots

or more like tinkle-clink or growling

time displays numbers running into infinity

the biological clock halts

a gray-bearded old man prays in a train station waiting room

and is fined for indecent behavior

maybe one day we’ll practice walking on hands

though our veins won’t be poured into tin just yet

and strange blacksmiths will come at night

smash the crust to bits and blow the pieces to the wind

then I’ll wash my hands clean of murders

and throw on a clean shirt

* * *

morning forces thoughts and people low

habits overpower sensations

an exact definition for every hour every weekday every season

yet if you light a candle in morning when it’s still dark

and let the mind wander or just stare at the flame

you can pretend to be away for a while longer

and then head to the depot or wherever

or else while dashing to catch the train

imagine a dash through the forest

            the chances to change sensations are many

you’ve simply got to realize what’s routine

and rethink it

what a wonderful morning I’ve never had the likes of it before

a new day is like a blank page no one has written upon yet