Journey to the exCenter
Today I woke up yelling war,
I’ve never screamed this Before,
So now I stand before you Alone.
Why did I think I’d turn to Stone?
I dreamt of ancient lore,
When the Milky Way threw
Newborn moons at stars
And her older sons played Mars.
I begged myself to stay
Just a little while longer
But I heard your voice
Bringing love into this Galaxy.
Reason became stronger
Slowing fiction as another Choice
Pulling me into a crimson taxi.
The driver, Orion, asked
4 or 5?
It’s 8 o’clock or more
And I’m running for my life
From a shadow with a knife
She’s speaking of strife,
But my question is about
her love life.
I can’t turn the lights off
And wine is spilling from
My eyes in particles
Behind a joking comet
I’m still wearing a disguise
It plunges into a sea of vomit
Are your words blue or
Violet?
I see no flowers, only thorns
And a god that cowers
Behind burning towers
Just as Nostradamus said.
His nostrils bled as the
Virgin Mary spread on his bed,
In good turn this journey began
To burn
Visions of devils born
In brimstone they learn
How to speak my inner language
Teaching against lies
Saying her spirit flies
Accepting their lesson
In touching skies my arms
Are cut, from blood grow shining
Wings, in exchange
An Angel dies.
Eyes blinded, the pigs
On disregarded farms
Quietly chomping human hearts
Panthers are standing guard.
The moon is quietly
beating a stellar bard
with her nightstick
and the Sun is the pick
of the May or is June?
Just take me away.
Is it 4 or 5?
It’s six, but less than 5
More than 4, like halfway
There but ten decades less.
Here, the stars in your spoon.
A black hole or Dante’s chasm?
You’re calling my name,
But I’m not the same
I’m gone, and this fox is tame-
Were it a deer I’d eat it
To taste its fear.
An Olympian goddess,
Speaking as minotaurs
Disguised as satyrs
A dozen divide.
But my question remains
about her love life.
And moons are born from stars
To the music of stellar bards
And this disguise lies poorly
Proving non-fiction to be better
Than poor fiction.
And I left, without their taxi,
Leaving birds to musically
Explore what’s real more.
So, yes I left the store
Without a Milky Way or a
Mars bar,
6.20 for the gas,
And I swear I didn’t
Make a pass at the girl
With the nice ass.
Copyright ©2008 Bogdan Ciochinaru