Poetry be damned
The grey coloured straightjacket of poetry
I have, like, Houdini freed me of these shackles
flowers, loveliness and mendacities.
An unbearable burden getting buried by a ton
of rotten blooms. I am free!
Fly from tree to tree not seeing the foliage,
soar higher than anyone before so elevated,
the blue planet is a bauble on a Christmas tree.
I land in a potato field with ordinary colours and
brown soil and when flowers from Amsterdam
are in season I`m free to wade in a muddy pool,
wear yellow wellies towing on a string a tiny sailboat
that (as by magic) becomes a three mastered schooner.
All this because I ain´t no poet but a writer and can
use double negatives if I so wish
(from my book When Beelzebub Ruled)
Poetry and vignettes)