deep sea calm at low tide
streams
creeks inject messages
into the veins of earth
rivers carry
the news
to the seas
and oceans
the gods
swinging their legs
on top of their belfries
waiting for the material
to be processed
watching
a hole in the sky was
carved by the moon over the ocean
for birds fallen to the water
the maker is searching for his face
on the surface
trees born again on the shore
the gods are laughing in their tongues
not a single bird
will get away
present is god’s sandwich wedged between past and future
darkness
and fog provide security
as
opposed to the light of a streetlamp
on the
other side of the fence
stands a
whitewashed house
unguarded
in the
blade-mirror of god’s dagger
a cul-de-sac
makes itself visible
aim and look aside
the night watchman swears
the train never goes to places
where the river has no recollection
where the valley is the watch-pocket of the hill
where the pitapat sound turns to music
the train only goes to
where there are
possible offerings
where god
looks aside
small coffee with two cubes of sugar
furry
parchments of the
unwound
ambiance lingers
in your
spider-cellophane eyes
the
distance subduing
the
sounds of mountains
is bombed
out skeletons
the bends
of rivers
the
thorns of the buckeyes
the
swirling of anthills
the
droning of beehives
the
silence of spiders
are
dispersing gasoline stripes
of
airplanes
and the
sound of men
mocking
god
this
might be the moment
when
you
finally decide
to move
ahead
and ...
change
your religion
By Gabor Gyukics
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