Once I called this weblog, the blog of repetitions.
And yet it repeats itself.
And still I repeat myself,
with the same mistakes,
with the same misleads,
with the same sour taste in the mouth.

It´s only life afterall.

***
I´ll try to write more and more in another language,
so I can draw my dreams nearer .
***


Cool of a temperate breeze from dark skies to wet grass
we fell in a field it seems now a thousand summers passed
when our kite lines first crossed
we tied them into knots
and to finally fly apart
we had to cut them off.

Since then it's been a book you read in reverse
you understand less as the pages turn
or a movie so crass
and awkardly cast
that even I could be the star.

I don't look back much as a rule
and all this way before murder was cool
but your memory is here and I'd like it to stay
warm light on a winters day.

Over the ramparts you tossed
the scent of your skin and some foreign flowers
tied to a brick sweet as a song
the years have seemed short but the days go slowly by
two loose kites falling from the sky
drawn to the ground and an end to flight.