100 years

Solitude

Is it a fruit? an instrument?

Maybe a Woman, wearing thin wool,

smelling of lemongrass...

I think I remember a sweet quiet of Sun's spirals,

a bitter hint of Chronos' tricks...

Illude, run, think, believe, cry, scream -

are the withdrawal from my solitude. 

Brrrzooom

     When there's a dancing speck of light
     that I might think was meant for me,
     and then turns out that it wasn't...
     It feels like I'm a background
     that's getting old and quite annoying.
     But watch me spread my wits to fly,
     to publish articles of humour,
     to ooooh and aaaaw all who I meet,
     just to retreat and drink my tea. Alone.