Inside your Window

Inside your window
I see the light
Open up your curtains
Let me see through you

I belong now
I belong now to you

We write in poetry what we don’t mean in real life
There’s nothing in Marseille
There’s nothing Toulouse

Let me in I will make you a misfit
You will hate me for the rest of the night
But that’s alright

I will write that I love you
But I won’t mean it

Inside your window
I see the light
Open up your curtains
Let me see through you

I belong now
I belong now to you

 

 

Nothing

On the first day

There was nothing.

On the second day

It prevailed.

On the third day

It fought itself.

On the fourth day

Nothing became something

And the something prevailed.

On the fifth day,

It wondered where nothing was.

 

Hiding behind its shell,

Glorifying its former self,

Losing a part of what it became

So it can move mountains

To where it will favorably fly.

 

Where is nothing, it wonders

If nothing was there to be found

Maybe it ran away – it ponders

Maybe its long dead and in the ground:

 

High above the mountain,

Flying between the clouds,

Looking below for something

But there was nothing to be found.