My Last Gasp

Concrete discrete blood
misunderstanding
the root

the truth in absence
the dream along Lake Michigan

yesterday
is
a day of sweet

tomorrow
is
a day of

airport road trip prairie dresses

left for a stare
left for death
a breath

my last gasp

- gypsy george.

Stories for A.D.D. (and other tales...)

The Swill, the Theory

Explosive strangeness jolts its way into the atmosphere of a rainy Monday only to find a dirty dime next to the shoe of decadence. A scruff mark defines a story, a tale saved from some other time. The empty, lonely feelings try to drive away the comfort, the glory of grooving to an Al Green song. Something must impress impressions when nothing else is left to impress. But, turn the other mind to the side one prefers. Fickle and pander towards a new meaning of trust. Take this swill with this theory and dig it deep into dust.

- gypsy george.

Πώς να είσαι εδώ/How is it that you are here

Πώς να είσαι εδώ
στο δωμάτιο του φεγγαριού;
καθρέφτης στο βουνό
κίτρινη Ζωή, η αγάπη

Πώς να πάμε μπροστά
χωρίς χορό;
η καρδιά πέφτει
σαν μια πεταλούδα
ανίσχυρη

κλαίω σαν ψίχουλο

η ψυχή ανοίγει την άνοιξη
η ανοχή δαγκώνει τής κόκκινες
γραμμές του δρόμου

Πώς να είσαι εδώ,
αγάπη...

translation

How is it that you are here
in the moon’s room?
A mirror on a mountain
yellow life, love

How do we move forward
without dancing?
The heart falls
like a butterfly
powerless

I cry like the soft part of bread

The soul opens Spring.
Patience bites the red
lines of the road

How is it that you are here,
love...

- gypsy george.