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Six short poems I wrote in a hair salon, inspired by the music, me and the people there. |
| The soft finish of leather armchairs music like a flowing mist trough the hair salon The excitement or is it fear A book in front of the mirror not my biography hers the woman Norma jean *** Me the word of I the self constructed, build, reformed the word of I the identity constructed, vanished, reunited *** The sound of one hundred helicopters your body underneath the crowd is turning against you No sound just the noise of one hundred helicopters your body craving the crowd is turning closing up around you The final solution: shut down the engine *** When did it start this ever lasting circle of excitment? When did it start this ongoing world of non-stop motion? When did it The change the fall that always arrives to late to early *** Ambivalence the naive history of life never sure always sure Give me a path to follow *** And I will walk straight forward my head high I'll look straight in to the eyes of the people who degenerated me |
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