Poetry

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from a release
of muscle contracting tension
the rest of life begins
on a spring afternoon
strolling along the river...

...and it reverberates
through-not-so-very-old-bones.

"Not going it alone this time"
says the invisible sidekick
as she unseats the seat of my pants
from the rocket hurdling over yonder blue;
jet fuelled by vodka.

"No more gardens of grandeur"
or invisible walls to crush
the great spirit, because
it´s smooth boating from here
and perspective is spoken best
from a distant mountain
where solemn ommmms
sing with the peace
of liberty.

The safety net is unstitched
(more like a bit ripped)
so look forward falling.

No, sorry, I´m lying
on a hammock about everything.
It was never there,
it was to teach you
to not look down

and

be careful! with the mirages
the real treasure´s tripping
with the thrash on the side of the road.