Mary Blindflowers, Extraterrestrial, poetry

Extraterrestrial

 

Once you asked me

if I were

and why I should ever believe

to be out of prayer beads,

and why the smooth world chrysalis

lies motionless

upon a diary limbo of every possible bond,

of every abstract apolitical thought

of voices never singing

in chorus.

Today one of the musicians

lost his rhythm,

they called me

in the circle of everything

circles,

but I won't replace it,

I play alone, just for nothing,

in my dark ages

just some alert viewers

on the edge of a planet

that never exists,

standing out to listen

my mad extraterrestrial

wind's rhythm.