there are only landscapes

the lack of it
the half
the less than half
of its diminishing crescent

where once the languishing
only the beat
only the voice alone
in the company of voices
solitudes of light

there is no door
it is the placeless hour
the handle within
leading to the wide expanses

once the wall
broken down so many times
generations of schizos
couldn't see
your beauty
they couldn't take your tongue
from head to toe
laughing with incandescent seed

Casanova did
so much hurt in the wake of love
young girls broken for life
the machine of masculinity
of the twin continents
bridged for instants
by the transcendental prick-pen

stretch them
the canvas of instants
pour landscapes of blue
into the mouth of your song

once there was a wall

now there are only landscapes

and you are not even blue