FALCON’S BAY


For some days now, we try to
pay no more attention to one-
another than we pay to our
routines – do dues.

I guess the trident of tongues 's
got to do with it. I mean: here
is hers, there is mine and our
conscience is in the middle.

It eats our eyes out, let alone
hearts. It keeps an eye on
corrosive parts.

Rusting claws as the falcon
cuts the crap.

For some years now, we seek
to find merely solutions to a
co-existence sol(o)stice by
means – sol-blues.

We know the harpoons of mouth
shut the door to it. She claims: I
shot her, she shot me and in the
end we shut the fact up.

They carve our skin deep, leave
alone bark. We grow apart in
a lighting dark.

Resting clasp as the falcon
strips the strap.

Only hold beaks at bay…

M.J.C.A. 14-11-2005