she spends most of her time
(she does not know perhaps that it has
been shortened)
building a new house
choosing the landscape of her new cottage
at the Mediterranean territory
had some chosen lovers to sleep with
on those lonely nights
drunk more, laughed louder than before
the following dawn
before the first fighting cock in the
fenced house cocks
she lies there
breathless....slashed throat, bathing with
her own sticky drying blood
alone and even those walls and
soft expensive bed do not give the clue
as to who
and why.
These are poetic experiments. Man's quest for the poetic element never ceases. He is always caught in the eye of awe. He does not make the rules now. The rules change depending on the emotion that time and space feed him. He must see everything with his wide eyes gaping. The beginning of poetry too, like philosophy is wonder. Look and see. Do not stop wondering You are the poet. And everything is poetry. Wonder. Wander.
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