Balance He stood under the hundred year old oak proud of its height when He urged us to become alike and truly we felt we had grown higher as though in a secret conspiracy among all alive entities who spot their reflective light in darkness so we turned toward the sky with the hope of reaching it and we extended our limbs toward the depths of earth into which we stretched roots and knowledge that suckled onto the earthly breast surely we agreed to uphold this inescapable duality while He smiled satisfied that we had found the path upon which we were meant to reach our equilibrium.
“But he claims you assured him the hole is good. The market is telling him something else.” “It is a good hole, Eteo. Why do you doubt it?” Eteo had to pause for a moment to find smoother words than the first ones that came to mind. “Look, Richard. If they really had a good hole, they wouldn’t make a cash call now. They would release the news that their hole was good. Simple as that. Asking for more money so fast, I have to tell you, Richard, it’s not a good sign. I don’t like it, and neither does Bernard.” “Don’t be so pessimistic, Eteo. We have a good hole, you’ll see.” “I hope so Richard, I hope so. But looking at the market, if it thought the hole was good, there would have been lots of buying orders from the drillers themselves, you know that. We would have seen them by now. I’m afraid your guy has got nothing and just wants to milk the partners for as long as he can.” Eteo paused and took a deep breath. Richard was silent too. Finally, all he could say was, “It will be a good hole, you’ll see.” “You know,” Eteo warned, “Bernard could be a bad partner if he found out that anything was kept from him.” “Why? What did he say to you?” Richard asked, sounding alarmed now. “I’m just advising, Richard, that Bernard could be a very negative factor in the market if he felt cheated. He could try to undermine you just for the principle of it. I know him.” “Come on, Eteo. There aren’t any principles in this market, and you know it. If my market picks up, he’ll make money on it too. Why would he undermine me.” “Then the question arises, how will you move your market with a bad drill hole?” “Don’t say that, Eteo. I have a good drill hole. You’ll see when the news is out.” “I hope so for your sake, Richard” “Are you trying to warn me about something more specific, Eteo? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
LAZINESS I do not care to work today for laziness has defeated me again and I sit upon my mattress and feel my body’s heaviness as if the whole wide earth cannot contain me nor ever can the sky. I perceive the good as evil and glance down once and then towards the sky. Despite this stupid world I live in, I wish I could just once live fully and never die.
Suspicion Therefore, you have to get used to it, he was saying, to always find new excuses not to deny anything. Your denial would be, first of all, denial of yourself, and they’re very careful with your mistakes. They even suspect your approval and your enthusiasm or your serenity. Then, what could we do? He asked, ah, yes, to occupy the least possible space. Then, again, they see our moderation as secrecy, they find some conspiracy in the afternoon reverie, when you smile to a star that believes in you when you stand firm behind a certain memory or this chair, where love was sitting moments ago, and you caress the back of the chair. What could we do, he said, and hid his whole face behind the newspaper.
Labyrinth The air smelled of spring in the flowery thicket I sauntered and your image came to my mind undulating soft bed-sheet followed the curves of your body when suddenly the wind perked up and the sheet was lifted up revealing Eros spread on your skin and between your legs where the summer heat doubled the heat of your body turning it into conflagration image that took my mind captive into the labyrinth of lust where I enter firm and always come out pale
The king passed and asked them “why you cry, you two slaves?” “For our precious son, the sun of every dawn we cry for our precious son who sold us for some coins who exchanged us for gold which you gave him oh king and he hasn’t come since then our only joy and resolve” and the king orders “bring the boy in front of me” “You’re the destruction’s son and the ruin of your parents and you’re riding a horse and you’re dressed in all fanfare tears you spread all over tears you never had,” “yes” he answers and the king writes an edict “noble son take this edict and go away become a lightning bolt and for ten days and ten nights don’t you ever dare stop
Like a Film My homeland is the flowing moment that always was and touched the farewell the passing of the flowing river and left fantastic years roles that are passed over under constellations kites of our origin innocence that travels in darkness. I was a path once a piece of infinity divided heart, a secret departure I smuggled away utopia searching for the forefather of a dream so, I could return the wild wind gleaming and flowing spring insubordinate poem deep footprint and as everything ages I shall move ahead irreversibly into the mined wave.
Snow He was the only one I had, although I couldn’t recognize him. He went away and came back. “Someday you’ll also return.” He said, “But no one will be here,” then he talked to me of his mother’s green dress, and he emphasized the word green as if he defended the whole world; other times, he kneeled and asked for the forgiveness of the centuries of grief and the women who later descended to do the laundry were forgotten in a great shine and as it started snowing, I opened the Gospel but it was snowing in it as well.
Diner Cook Eons behind the counter, the years he has spent in this diner, side of the highway where truckers stop to rest, to eat something fast, to relieve themselves and to resume their fast-trucking way towards their destination to earn their living just like the diner cook who stands behind the counter and cooks hamburgers, a matter of two minutes each side, which along with a handful of fried potatoes make up the regular meal, straight French cuisine, one might muse, food meant to be digested as the driver sits in his seat focusing on the next bend of the road, the faraway depot where he’ll get paid, he too has done as others did before him he too has lived the donkey’s life just as others did before him
…flowing in his veins. Marcus knew well he could graduate from this school tonight he could take his diploma tonight he could put the Kamloops Indian Residential School behind him and behind his sister by just learning how to kill. This was the lesson he had to learn tonight and the power of such a lesson kept him quiet in the closet just behind Sister Gladys’ desk. Suddenly footsteps were heard. A door opened and a man walked along the long hallway going towards the sleeping quarters of the girls. Marcus moved the closet door a bit open enough to discern Father Thomas going his regular direction. Marcus walked out of the closet and twelve steps further he hid behind the door leading upstairs to the rooms of the priests and nuns. Moments passed, moments that felt like eons when suddenly Marcus stopped even his heartbeats as he felt on his body the back of the door opening slowly. Two persons entered: a girl, his sister Deborah, held by the hand by Father Thomas who was right next to her. Marcus charged like a thunder and before the priest turned to look he had wielded the knife twice up and down striking the back of the priest in two places. The priest, struck by surprise, tried to turn and look who was doing the killing when he received two more strikes on his chest. With a loud cry Father Thomas stepped backwards and losing his balance he fell on his back and his head hit the wooden post of the stairs and with a noisy thud he collapsed on the floor. “Let’s go,” Marcus said to his sister and taking her by the hand the priest was holding a few seconds earlier he led her towards the main entrance door which they found locked. They ran to the basement and to the carpentry shop, Marcus climbed on a short ladder and opened one of the two windows. Deborah first then Marcus crawled out of the building and, running as fast as they could distanced themselves from the mausoleum.
Manolis Aligizakis 