I have 3 rooms in my house
1 for the right hemisphere of my brain
1 for the left hemisphere of my brain
and 1 to sleep in

there is no room for the corpus callosum
or, maybe that’s where the cat spends its nights,
somewhere up the attic
I never go there. she hunts the mice, the spiders, the sparkling

cobwebs in moonlight, dust specks of lost memories
make up for a correct haunting, neat and romantic
still, its wooden floor board connects my rooms

in some way, you might say. overhead. but it is not
god. there is room to forget there is room
and the cat curls up in the corners



I was shown a portal with no entrance
and no exit either. it was just room. or, space. existing
on itself like a mirror wherein no one watches
and no one answers. it had boundaries

but no end. or should I say: ends? there was form
certainly, but no measurement. where do we go
when mind looses its anchor and drifts
free of body, transfers thinking to atoms

does my poem make up an another apple, does it crystallize
in the night? empty exists as an adverb, as breathing
space with no entrance. there is blood

at the pinpoint of the needle, one drop carries milliards
of life forms and softly lands them on earth. angels
and prospects, they stick to dancing



Come inside. You will like it. I was watching
a sequence of deaths, but it didn’t add up
to a sentence. maybe we need beads the size
of a coconut, oysters, orbital ice, all full of water

and food for a life time. if we travel
through a space that is a sanctuary
of depths, can we grow wings? to the rim
and out we go. the catalogue ends here

it has not yet us on its lists. let’s try to leave
where we are. in time enfolds a message
as a tune, coded in a strange heartbeat

there is a rapping on the floor board above
the nails of the cat have left marks in the hallway
it is the speed of light that hides the void