Not That Man

Not That Man

After digging squares of alien existence, simulating a mechanical journey, driven between green meadows, cattle and orange concrete juice, he realized the place
simply
was not fit for his dying.

Delicious, forbidden hours
were left
neglected behind practical, functional, time framed issues.
Every insignificant detail was taken care of, smoothly, planned in advance, beyond a rising midnight sun or a technical orgy. But for him, only one thing mattered:
No place is good for a living if it ain't  worth to die in.

The air needs space! blue and green space need real earth, the sort you get your hands dirty with, to
breathe and die all year round.

I found one such place                    but I am not that man.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Abnegation

Abnegation

Mutinous I return to universe's confines

gushing

memories where blossom sand dunes grew

I dump

bell flowers from temples' belfries

the last drops of limpid dew

I shake

delivering feathers of creamed dreams

the white stone wall

I disown

whence I set off to you

earth stains I blow

where oft

we hid

Lost, futile

I return capable of

wanting, having, seeing

nothing

exhausted of so much

dying.