Lorem IpsumDominum

Mr.Kale

There is something with Mr.Kale.
Recently, his face is turning pale.
like ashes burning in a jar of cigarrette remains.

No amount of caffeine,
Nor alchohol can sooth him. It wouldn't go away.
"But what is it?",
Mr.Kale, now cross legged,
reclining on a recliner.

Then he remembered, he used to sang,
spend days on branches of kurrajong, 
composing long poems, diphthong, folk's tongue.

"But what is it?",
Mr Kale, now hunched over,
hovering a field of galingale.

Then he remembered, he used to swim,
purring hot flames in swales of underswell.
In whimsey white wit, whispered words of tattletales.

"But what is it?", 
When the evening came to an end,
Dask dyed canvas red.

Mr Kale, now found himself lost,
in a nowhere everywhere,
meandering on ocean waves.


But the wind hurled him into waters. 
Falling feeling like a swampish sewer,
He heard deceased sailors,
shouting sea shanties,
about whales, dugong, shellfish mistaken,
for jewel. 
Shadows chased his shoes.

He shut his eyes, and let the night sigh.
From his finger tips thoughts flung, like 
boom-a-rung.
If it wasn't the ocean that i needed, would it have
been the wind?

        

Window

My house is tiny, fitting one window, only.

One tired stain job, 
left alot,
bare plank nake in 
embarrassed shun.

A rustry knob, controlling light.
To let in.
Or darkness, to let out.

I sat by my window, listening to flowers fall.
Then a breeze fired, in the middle of winter.
Dreaming of summer, i sealed the window shut.