I am a stranger in this land.
A prisoner in dusty house…
An angel – song without body.
A soul in body – morning dream.
Late in the life all days are gouty,
sweet gone of melting ice and cream.
Love is a loss, systemic weakness,
a lasting memory in screams,
a legend and neurotic sickness
and it is Theory of Strings.
Myth is constructed as forgiveness
and implemented as refrain.
The theological indulgence
is no more than disdain.
And who is safe in time of looting?
Whose greetings welcome dear guests?
Look, here bombing, there shooting
and mosques are rising in the West.
The rain is pissing on the ravens.
And brains are sunny side eggs up.
And Mozart crying in the Heavens,
but babies dance when listen rap.
The seasons come and seasons go.
The modest holly fire drill.
That bush was burning very slow.
This is why Moses signed the deal.
The lights are fading - end of show.
O! Yes, you know: Sun is green!
and Future’s future is death row.
and Future’s past is mortal sin.
And in the field that ends by forest.
grandfather’s father sleeps with friends.
He was a Jew and killed by neighbors.
He was a blind and old, and deaf.
He was a stranger in that land
Land which did not like his bows…
5/5/2013