To Maya.

Maya, the 20th. 
A running waterfall in a fixed portrait 
The colors..
the lights,
 the shades 
Are all hers
But the fellow items
 are of no life.
The host frame 
Is of no origin
The fancy palace of hers , Maya the 20th
Is a bit cannibalistic
It shamelessly eats on the soul.
I stand outside
 during the good times
Watching her thrive 
The nomad in her lungs 
Is satisfied but restless 
Maya the 20th
Is restless .
I wave at the cuddling atoms 
Stuck in the air 
around her hair 
They  sometimes wave back 
I hear ‘em 
Those acidic ears of mine 
Absorb forbidden sounds in fear 
I am no boy 
I am no woman
I am two hazy eyes 
Staring at islands of words 
With fatally deep water.
Electrified once or twice 
By threads of voice 
Escaping your mountain 
Without saying  goodbye .
Maya the 20th is mad
20 years and she’s mad 
And the stolen threads
I keep under my bed 
Are throwing salt of the sea 
They splash it into my face
I can't see 
But my vision 
is up to the sky
Maya the 20th 
Is an amazed kite 
That’s just been let go 
By her faithful child
She’s wandering the world 
And what a sweet
Sweet
 fall.