VI-XI

Two armed men pace along the shore
accompanied by the simple
harmony of the ocean.

Their heavy standard issue boots
drill craters into the soft dark sand.

Nearby a team of olive skinned men
laboriously drag their dinghy ashore.

The deep blue sky gazes down at me:
I realise that I am far away
from the great greyness of the city.

Children entertain themselves
in the sea whilst their parents
blissfully gaze out to sea.

Everyone is at peace.





The tide is rolling into the shore,
crashing onto the virgin sand.

Beach of wantonness where lovers
embrace beneath the twinkling stars,

the moon blushes at the depraved
scenes in the hotel nightclub:

his golden tears flood down
upon the tranquil sea.

Perhaps he is beckoning
me to join him: the ochre
road leads from here to his
lonely golden abode.

Yet the artificial lights
on the wooden jetty beckon
me back to the hotel: to the
fake splendour of the Red Square.

The King of the sky has now
lost his golden crown and is
outshone by the clear night sky.

Behind me lies the endless abyss,
swirling her belly at me:
enticing me to join her.
To flee the trivialities of this artificial life.

The three paths beckon simultaneously:
each one leading to its own unique despair.

To choose the fluorescent lights,
to plunge into the gentle abyss,
or to walk the ever dimming
golden path to eternity.

Have pity on the weakness of men.
O! How the temptress beckons my weak soul:

To end it all or to
pursue two aimless paths.









If I should die now,
what would become of me?

My freshly rotted flesh soon forgotten,
tear stained faces soon dried.

To join the spirits floating
beneath where I am sitting,
peacefully drifting by; these
illusions of the moonlight
on the water seem so tangible

These golden wraiths so
fixatingly beautiful,
yet their form appears so
terrifyingly life-like.

Is that a corpse over there?
Wrapped in the same shade of
black that I am wearing?

I know that what I see is just the moon's lights,
her radiant, sad white face casts a huge golden sheen
over the sea, stretching for eternity.

The metallic sheen on the path to the horizon
shares a common cause: to wander forever,
but to never find that which it seeks.









In this ancient graveyard twixt
moss covered, crumbling old gravestones,
beneath the great night sky and
the radiant ochre princess
I dreamily extinguish my
cigarette on a nearby stone.

The chill breeze is invigorating,
and it makes me conscious of the
whisperings of the tranquil night:
I am surrounded by dead souls
in a long-forgotten churchyard.











Set sail for the azure infinity,
raise anchor once more; set a course
for the abyss.

Again we embark on another
meaningless voyage; the sensation
never changes, it is always the same
bright blue yonder and the same
glowing stars.

Our voyage left to chance and
the benevolence of Providence:
we cannot help but let
ourselves be carried along,
gently rocked to sleep by the calm
drifting and the silent lullaby of the wind.

Freedom is such that we are
able to glide across the
tranquil oceans in peaceful solitude.

We few are destined to
float here forever until
the current ceases and
the oceans expire.