Maple leafs

A tide swept in this morning.
It was a great, thundering, maple leaf tide,
and in its wake a drawn out note fell vibrating to the ground
in our concrete garden.
There – on the bus, in the concert hall,
under the water tower where the sound never cease to travel,
under the skies, next to the dying generation
in the supermarket cash queue,
behind the school cantina – there is the desolate autumn shore,
tainted by grey,
lashed by the minstrel of yesterday’s bliss and tomorrow’s
doubt.
And despite all, the tide leaves no foothold,
no note to cling to,
only a trench in the sand
in which to dig deeper. Deeper, until you strike oil
or reach China.

Yes, I do have a problem with fall. It gets under my skin, eats me, and then digest me really slowly. But of course, it's not third world starvation or nuclear holocaust, but if it's not a problem, I don't know what it is. I would say though that We, the royal We with banquets and cumbersome gardens (that we do not need to bother with), works on a different level than imperialistically victimized states and nationwide Ebola epidemics. They are part of some grander scheme, now that God feels a measly flood won't do the trick. Or are they not due to good old Deus Ex M. Could it actually be that we are fucking ourselves over?! Oh my...

To Some

To some it is a crusade of the heart,
To some there is no beginning or start,
To some there is no middle way,
To some there is nothing to say,
To some it is a guided tour,
To some it is to boldly soar,
To some there is nothing but pain,
To some it is springtime rain,
To some it is flute and drum,
To some it is a solemn hum,
To some it is having many or one,
To some it is having any or none.

Hrmpf...

Tusen är de solar som har lapat din glans. Du på din strandstol med armar och ben av koppar. Jag minns att havet doftade rosor och skyn invid horisonten var röd med marmorering av kobolt. Nu är den kolikblek höst och dina lemmar är sand.