B/W is the color of truth

soft-spoken
on my mother’s side

A vaga bond with my father
also, on his side
his hair! It’s as thick as a fog

In the muddle of April
Not grey, or parted with a gun, my father's hair

but they both have young faces

After all these years
opposite
like a magnet dipped in any kind of oil
one is a life-liver
one has a liver that still complains..

These nights
I try to find my addiction
but I can’t find it
is it that I love holes in my socks?
or that I just need love?
and is that so bad?
I think what stops my addiction, is my desire to search,

through a tomb
or through a synagogue in Rome

That crumbles like it was once a catacomb
in my bachelor days

But I know I’ll have to sleep soon
and take a trip through my dream
where I’m counting foreign money on a magic cloud,
and teaching a monk how to read Canadian
and he just laughs and laughs
so I laugh

Until we shatter red hot glass
and the earth moves quickly

out from beneath us

signs point
back to reality

Author's Note

i have so many details threads going on and so many ways to present them and so i can't feel satisfied with this ... it lacks focus :S whenever i stream out any old thing