The dark side of an angel

on a wall
A painting...

This is disharmony
Like the terror in her eyes


Life is plastic
Roads of life are plastic...
We poster anything
with selected sides of aspects...

Slashes in the neck

We put angels not in prisons of our imagination
but in real such places....

Love is a threat, to be paid off....

in competition with my other ambitions...
We human beings are dangerous weapons...
if we are weak...

Wet chestnut leaves stuck to the cobbled pavement.

I am staring up at the high grey walls
shuttered windows i had pictured in my dreams.
I remain faithful in my wanderings.
No substitutes.

I had watched my back....
sat in coffee shops, observed cars,
fishermen, cyclists...
I had walked through classical gardens
perched on benches.

The sounds of piano grew a little louder.
The views of the Seine through the windows
at each half lending.
I am nervous, cause i am not John.....
I see views of several rivers at once.
The one fast flowing,
another calm.
A third strict as a canal. 
Brown skinned children watched me from a doorway.
A young girl in the bright cottons,
flitted past me on her way...

Lovers arm in arm.

Accept me....

The hills darkened as i drove

the roads grew deeper
the rock peaks of the hilltops were blackened
.....as if burned...
Stone walls enclosed

med me.
I entered a village of slate roofs
crumbling walls, old car tyres
plastic bags.
Piglets and hens wandered in my path,
inquisitive sheep eyed me.....
but i saw no human soul...

I drove over humbacked hills
into a plantation of blue conifers
that turned green
then polka dot.

The road became a track.
I crossed a ford and entered a rural slum of rotting cauliflowers.

Hard jawed children watched me
from the threshold of a tin shed.
I crossed a second stream or the same one.

Someone was facing me...
God?

The stone walls gave way

I was flying over wide valleys
patched with sun
crossed with streams...
Chestnut horses grazed in perfect rectangular meadows.....

In my apprehension everything was too late...
I sensed despair...
Why had i never played here as a kid...
walked as a boy?
Run in that field, lived in that cottage...
These colours, why had i never painted them?
You were all thes hopes....

Breathe humid, old, frightening

Echoes when there is no sound....
My palms flat on the ancient stones
wringgled to my sanctuary...

I am fighting...

PHOTO   ARGYRO TSOURTI

Nobody who has not lived in secrecy

appreciate  its addictive powers
Nobody who has renounced the secret world
recovers the deprivation....

Longing for the inner life is unendurable ....

We dream of the secret hush ....
Chu

rch air is like no other....