Two hundred
two.
Two people, some time ago.
Two hundred and sixty five days ago.
Two people and a pause.
Three hundred and eighty one thousand, six hundred minutes of remorse.
Two people, one and two.
One person watches another one go.
Twenty two million, eight hundred and ninety six thousand seconds of saliva, going down a single throat.
And the timeless silence of a coward,
letting another one go.
Addicted to nostalgia, dripping by the ticking movement of its sword.
Monday, March 23, 2015
Things falling
My feet are digging into the ground
the tips of my hair clinging to the air
I breathe sometimes, when I remember
and blink. Dust chews at my gums.
It is time, you say it
will take care of everything.
A riptide and sweet empty wind
full of salt and bees.
But I see things falling,
words and dreams, a story
I imagined and built of
foam and sunlight beams.
They fall, under my stomach
into my guts and bowels
it is time, you say, it
changes. But I´ll call it gravity.
the tips of my hair clinging to the air
I breathe sometimes, when I remember
and blink. Dust chews at my gums.
It is time, you say it
will take care of everything.
A riptide and sweet empty wind
full of salt and bees.
But I see things falling,
words and dreams, a story
I imagined and built of
foam and sunlight beams.
They fall, under my stomach
into my guts and bowels
it is time, you say, it
changes. But I´ll call it gravity.
Javelin
Pierced through the limbs
to the wall with a javelin
like a fly or a cockroach
The rugged wall of sandpaper
by the rush of the water
Flat-backed and belly-burnt
roasting in bits and pieces
digging the javelin hole.
to the wall with a javelin
like a fly or a cockroach
The rugged wall of sandpaper
by the rush of the water
Flat-backed and belly-burnt
roasting in bits and pieces
digging the javelin hole.
Embebido
"Embebido" that´s what I am
drunk of the talent´s shadow I wear.
Embe, iambo, dandy, anger
anything I can touch, I can tear.
My words are in the freezer
my fingers in the air
shards of glass in my stomach,
tangles in my hair.
"Embebido", dangling at my bellybutton
a mouthful of rhymes to share
bebido, botella, drunk, drank
spitting verses unaware
Rima, arrima, pass me that drink
estoy embebido, I swear
a glass, a poem, I´ll give you a sip
I have stomach to spare
Pie quebrado, silva and sonnets
it´s such a syllable affair
falling from my tongue like
liquid blocking into squares
Give me a swig, give me a theme
I have a verse to declare.
Give me a gulp, saliva and ink
I´ll see your any dare.
drunk of the talent´s shadow I wear.
Embe, iambo, dandy, anger
anything I can touch, I can tear.
My words are in the freezer
my fingers in the air
shards of glass in my stomach,
tangles in my hair.
"Embebido", dangling at my bellybutton
a mouthful of rhymes to share
bebido, botella, drunk, drank
spitting verses unaware
Rima, arrima, pass me that drink
estoy embebido, I swear
a glass, a poem, I´ll give you a sip
I have stomach to spare
Pie quebrado, silva and sonnets
it´s such a syllable affair
falling from my tongue like
liquid blocking into squares
Give me a swig, give me a theme
I have a verse to declare.
Give me a gulp, saliva and ink
I´ll see your any dare.
Monday, March 2, 2015
America is a road
Sometimes I
wait on the side of the road and wonder where I´m going
Sometimes I
wait on the side
of a road
that was paved in this desert.
America is
a road
It´s a road
where I never grow old. They always play my music on the radio.
America is
a road, full of tiny scabs and termites
Skeleton
trees and cracked lips
It´s a road
that sneaks through the heart of the forest
With
saplings bended over by the weight of bloom
And tiny
nuts hiding in lush branches.
America is
not really America. It´s only a little bit of big America.
Strange
names of many letters.
Whispers of
Indians, ghosts of meadows.
It´s a road
that I remember day and night
A road that
is not a road, that is a river
and the
slow slipping of wild time to be tamed.
America is
a road full of earth prisons and same-same signs.
A people of
roads that have shinny blind eyes.
Dust and
moon glow inebriety in the high corners of mountains
In the dark
grazing lands of lions and bears.
America is
a road full of spirits and words, parading down the path of freedom,
Nibbling at
the slumber of those that sleep.
Sometimes I
wait on the side of the road and wonder where I´m going
Walking,
slowly.
Sometimes I
wait on the side and let the road go.
Five vowels
Infatuation, imagination
Five vowels of truth and dare
Imagination, infatuation
Creating people from thin air
And there was blindness to the fool
She confuses ears and eyes
She creates toys from images
And people from pieces and glue.
And there was a pedestal for the idol
He gives wings to the earth
He sprinkles sex with deity
And senses with eternity.
And there will be problems tomorrow.
There always will be.
Tomorrow problems of today’s imagination.
Monday, February 16, 2015
Word paste
This paper was paste
this paste was a tree
a paper, a poem, a breath.
A breath stolen by greed
The greed of individual words,
sap of meaning and need.
A letter, a leaf, a finger,
tearing at the root of a word
angry branches in the night
voicing individual words.
And words have become swords and axes
sharp, a belly full of fungi and weed.
Words were the path and the limbs,
the forest fires.
A pause. A gust of wind.
this paste was a tree
a paper, a poem, a breath.
A breath stolen by greed
The greed of individual words,
sap of meaning and need.
A letter, a leaf, a finger,
tearing at the root of a word
angry branches in the night
voicing individual words.
And words have become swords and axes
sharp, a belly full of fungi and weed.
Words were the path and the limbs,
the forest fires.
A pause. A gust of wind.
We called it a sea
It is a constant pounding,
this come and go of tides.
The whitewash of feelings
To keep the ocean alive.
Tangled in a seaweed of grief
Salty words in the mouth
and stingrays at the feet.
The water was never less alive
When it was static
Only each moment was silently still
Undertow torn by the need of movement
Tragedy and longing of foam and thrills.
Algae wrapped hearts
And sand-filled hands
Promises of abalone and whispers of crabs.
Well worth it
And this is how it goes
That which happens to one is always most relevant
It was marrow cold
and once imprisoned into the body,
nothing could release it.
There was no fury, only
a dull anger of sorts.
Something in the hand
held, something in the body released.
Never have two been any less
or any more straight lines that collide sometimes
and let go.
There was a thump and
the silent blast of breath,
smog of a dirty weapon
in the cold.
Always it has been something
small that starts a war,
A shame so rooted that it grows into voiced pride.
It was blood cold
and the shoes well worth it.
Dawn has always been blind to violence and naive,
covering dead bodies with gold.
That which happens to one is always most relevant
It was marrow cold
and once imprisoned into the body,
nothing could release it.
There was no fury, only
a dull anger of sorts.
Something in the hand
held, something in the body released.
Never have two been any less
or any more straight lines that collide sometimes
and let go.
There was a thump and
the silent blast of breath,
smog of a dirty weapon
in the cold.
Always it has been something
small that starts a war,
A shame so rooted that it grows into voiced pride.
It was blood cold
and the shoes well worth it.
Dawn has always been blind to violence and naive,
covering dead bodies with gold.
Both
Don´t talk to me about deserving
I hear the crackle of the flies legs, one against the other like timber, lazily laying upon the child´s closed eyes.
Don´t talk to me about deserving
Nobody deserves to die.
And you use a word like a shield,
to hide away your fear
and being alone is always safer
than being together.
Don´t talk to me about deserving
I wonder if her mind wanders through the same places mine goes, while
I fuck for you to love me
and she is fucked loveless.
We both deserve better, we both, we doubled, we threw, we broke.
We both deserved better, both of all, both.
Don´t talk to me about deserving. It is a poisonous word - a place where no one belongs and everything has been told.
I hear the crackle of the flies legs, one against the other like timber, lazily laying upon the child´s closed eyes.
Don´t talk to me about deserving
Nobody deserves to die.
And you use a word like a shield,
to hide away your fear
and being alone is always safer
than being together.
Don´t talk to me about deserving
I wonder if her mind wanders through the same places mine goes, while
I fuck for you to love me
and she is fucked loveless.
We both deserve better, we both, we doubled, we threw, we broke.
We both deserved better, both of all, both.
Don´t talk to me about deserving. It is a poisonous word - a place where no one belongs and everything has been told.
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