tra la la la


there are nights
that change color
like a chameleon
when we are separate
and the molecules are still.
then ~ the sound of your name
is an instrument i do not play
but long to
the clarinet reed
the violin bow
a pool of patient water.
when i cease to expect you
and wonder that you
have fallen asleep
beside me before.
that i have glimpsed you
in the crowd of memories
with your eyes lowered
like a stranger.
that i dreamed of you
and kept a fragment.
that i would look for you
and see your name
in block letters.
and your love is mine,
but not all of the time,
or else why would i
fall asleep wondering.
that the heart is smoke
that you can see
but see through
that fills but never fills
the room.
if you knew
the way that my
hands rummage for you.
the sound of your name
is an alphabet.
the bare white seeds
i haven’t planted yet.
i am an anthropologist
in the dark
looking for your impression
in my bed.
can we fall in love
all over again.
and this time
i will believe it.


in the dark i tried to tell you
what my heart is,
in the quiet voice of background music.
because at times i feel
it is a light bulb
with some fine filament
already too warm to touch
controlled by a distant switch.
sometimes the hum
of a solemn airplane,
the only thing awake
over the unlit city.
but then at times
i think it is a well
waiting for the
bucket to come and take.
sometimes it dreams of before
its first beat
and beyond its last
but in between
how your name
was pressed like a stone
between the shoe and the skin.

two musical performances and an interview on episode 1 of technicolour noise!


we interrupted every moment
with phones and mirrors,
the shooting stars
grew impatient.

i wanted the limbs to crack
under my feet
to prove that i was on one.

come back,
don’t forget,

i tried to tell you beneath the sunset,
i tried to tell you in the dark,
people who take too many photographs
are the ones who don’t expect anything
to last.