Monday, July 22, 2013

in the tin soldier mould

we were wondering whether
air contracts or expands under
the increasing heat of the tongue

bursting ice, atoms, accelerating
flames, precipitating
melting shadows from the wall

all became a vast, empty fireball
crystals cracking, brutal
reflection in my sound perception,

every word was noise,
i filled my head with pillow feathers
could not hear myself under the voice

of those dreams that i wrote
into my letters, head in the oven,
just switched it on and then the other one
in the tin soldier mould

was it a question of failed restraint
or of anamnesis morbi
fish soldiers must end up in flames
followed by fragile paper dancers
but these were flesh and bones
nurturing life lines

one decided to cut them 
with wet towels
the other phased it out as
dead end