Month: February 2020

Now and then
you talk to me straight
addressing my black depths.

You raise my trust
You give my flame of life
a swirl of oxygen.

This time I was about to retreat
under abandonment
and pretentious insightfulness.

About to dress me in cheap fabric,
camouflaging myself
behind pompous layers of logic.

Downstairs there is a room, a mystery room. Things happen down there. These things thoroughly oppose my urge to interpret what it means.

The walls of the room are dark green. The ceiling is low resting on four pillars. The floor is made out of wood and coloured “mahogany reddish-brown”. Half the floor is one step up. On this level, near to the edge, there is a wooden bowl. I am unable to see part of the side of that bowl. My head blanks out part of the image. That part becomes white.

A yellow mist approaches. It condenses and leaves water in the bowl. At this moment, the white part of the image disappears. Now, I see a crack in the side. Water emerges through this crack and moisten the floor outside. Everything is okay.

Göran Stille

I want to catch the not yet known
about to appear,
before it come into being.
I want to write without words.

Touch what is not yet touched.
Make sure not to forget
what I search for
before I find it.

In poorly disguised anger,
I capture every experience,
painful or joyful,
dress them in words.

Exposes them
to the mills of my words.
Grind them
into a thin disappearing flour.