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    The shell
    hiding the fire,
    Never able to smother it
    the more it tries the angrier the flames inside the shell,
    primeval, thunderous, invincible...

    You open your eyes,
    I offered you sight.

    You look
    and what do you see but the shell?
    Smile wrinkles around the eyes, white strands...

    It is though the same as when your eyes were closed,
    when sightlessly you listened to the roaring inferno
    as sunís claw was dragging you into its cataclysmic heart
    and your insides were burning into ecstasy.

    No, donít close your eyes again,
    You cannot hear it anymore,
    You cannot feel it anymore,
    It died with your opening of eyes
    and sight.

    All you see now is the shell.
    You lost the inferno,
    You lost that terrible claw,

    And though my bare fingers can still unbend an iron nail
    and stab a dragonís heart
    I lost you.



When I Get Old?

    when I get old?

    ha, you mean when I stop enjoying Elvis at windows shattering volume,
    when all I look for from morning to evening
    is for quiet
    and food
    and the pill it is the right time to take?

    when all I can look forward to
    is my yesterdays,
    those that I might still remember?

    when a womanís naked body
    does not yield any response beyond an endless cough
    not dissimilar to the one when watching the morning bus
    beneath my window,
    when a womanís naked leg makes me shiver with cold
    and her naked breast does not drive me into the raping state of mind
    of a cougar in heat?

    thatís when the last memory I will ever carry
    is the hiding nest of that Smith & Wesson
    and its unborn 9mm child
    I will father.



Before Death

    Your words
    riding me into a coma.

    Your youth
    vibrant like surgical steel stretched atop a violin body,
    the only tool allowed to play its music
    the sharp ends of a loverís teeth
    plucking tiny pieces of skin
    attached to living ends of nerves
    and pleasure.

    Your heels
    never touching the ground
    as you dance through life on tips of toes
    forever pirouetting around loveís center of gravity,
    forever gyrating around a sun held in your outstretched hand
    its lazy flames lambent upon your skin
    flickering around those tiny blue flowers kissing your elbows.

    wait a moment,
    in this universe
    this is a physical impossibility.

    So they say. Yet
    look inside my universe
    where truths are spoken only by unborn infants
    by heretics burnt on the stake
    and by suicidal poets.

    The melting marble in your breast
    The hidden smile in your protest,
    That stain of sky
    Inside your eye,
    My dawn... wherever lies your nest.

    Allow one day to paint your year
    One word to swim inside your tear
    If loveís the word
    Then larkís the bird
    To seed its tunes inside your ear.

    Donít close your eyes when suns invade
    The path you plowed across the glade
    And sunset glows
    Between your toes
    Asleep inside the green brocade.

    Just hang your clothes upon a branch
    Let fading grief your shoulders blanch
    Then like a swan
    Your beauty don
    While rhymes sublime your bleeding stanch.

    Watch sizzling dew upon your skin
    Entranced with dreams of scalding sin
    Inhale your sighs
    And kiss your thighs
    Along a trail of blister sheen.

    Then flare your nostrils... scent the breeze
    Regard those shapes among the trees
    The pale of white
    The soft of light
    The promise of dementing tease.

    You slide beneath the hugging leaves
    A crumbling star in silence grieves
    A glimmer marks
    Its dying sparks
    As burning dust through eyelids sieves.

    The soft of down the hard of steel
    They near your lair... they touch your heel
    They pull your hip
    They crush your lip
    A loverís hands your candor steal.

    lover? who?
    lover... you?...
    you whisper,

    I sink the chalice in the wind to pick a sleepy waft
    And let it curl around your toes, between, and fore, and aft,
    Then as my fingers follow suit like clumsy sunset thieves
    Your skin ignites and tiny sparks roll summers into leaves.

    skin? why?
    skin... my?...
    you whisper,

    I sink my head inside the hive to pick a mouthful gold
    And pour the glow between your lips with ecstasy untold,
    And when your tongue lashes for more I call upon the swarm
    Unleashing in your gaping mouth a raging pollen storm.

    storm? how?
    storm... now?...
    you whisper,

    I sink my hands beneath the earth to grab its hot entrails
    The molten ore inside my fist drags seven flailing tails,
    You arch your back and shove your breast till nipples rape my palm,
    The fire which consumes your skin... your bodyís only balm.

    fire? when?
    fire... who why how... again?...
    you whisper,

    I sink my body in that mine you lined with glowing coal
    Your nails the masterís scribing tool, my skin your bleeding scroll,
    We roll into the dragonís mouth and thrash inside the gore
    Till splitting skies fall willing prey to passionís sudden roar.

    passion? whence?
    passion... hence?...
    you whisper,

    I sink your body in the milk decanted from a doe
    Then dress your wounds with fragrant moss asleep beneath the snow
    And as you rub into my cuts your mouthís embalming sap
    My magic runes will curl your shape to sleep inside my lap.


    You slept on your back,
    The tiny flame escaping your half open lips
    playing havoc on my mind,
    this cannot be human.
    I kept waving away the golden moths
    whose only ambition seemed to be to burn inside this flame,
    funny looking moths, indestructible,
    changing shape and color each time they buzzed through the tiny pyre,
    now they were gold, before they were yellow with green spots,
    before that blue and shaped like winged lizards...
    I neared my eyes, the air crisp and dry the more I approached,
    sudden pain... no... pleasure
    shooting through my eyelids as lashes caught fire
    and turned into thin bodied minuscule butterflies
    swimming inside my eyes,
    I swatted the moths away,
    they battled me as I approached my open mouth
    inhaling the flame into my lungs and my lungs turning ashes
    and my ashes turning poppy fields
    and the poppy fields turning liquor pouring into your flame
    sizzling, inebriating the moths and me
    defining the colors of my insanity and the threshing of my heart...

    I pulled back, panting.
    Waited a few moments
    then resumed my examination of your body,
    not yet further down than your nipples
    on my way to monumental discoveries and palpitating adventure...
    nipples asleep, smiling the way sleeping nipples do,
    cozily sunk in the unripe-apple sized mounds of flesh
    called breasts on humans...
    they should have been called loveís cornucopia of grapes on you.
    I touched the right nipple with the tip of my tongue,
    my mind set on tasting not on touching,
    it woke up, yawned, stretched rubbing teasingly against my lips
    as the left one started showing signs of life as well,
    they always seemed to act as a pair...
    then suddenly both pierced the air with a shriek
    stretching against the surrounding sunsets
    begging loudly to be cuddled inside my mouth or my palm
    dark red blood pumping and gurgling through them
    the smell of freshly baked bread and hot pouring chocolate
    and cinnamon and wild roses invading my nostrils, the room,
    the window panes fogging alongside with my eyes
    as they tasted in my mouth like strawberries then like cherries
    then like lumps of honey melting inside my throat
    into the sting of bees...

    Yes, I knew it was time to move on,
    much as I feared and more as I desired.
    I moved a momentís distance away
    watching the wreckage caused by my aspiring want Ė
    the moths still stumbling drunkenly around the roomís corners,
    the thickly flavored fog
    rising and rolling around those mounds on your chest,
    your breathing undisturbed, serene, quiet...
    I moved on,
    past your white belly, lower,
    I stopped.

    I got up, froze time, and crashed through walls and cars
    and trees and mountains till I found that meadow
    and in the middle of the meadow the wild raspberries
    bunches of which I cupped in both hands rushing back
    through the mountains and the trees and the cars and the walls
    repairing all damage done in my wild surge, unfreezing time,
    your breathing undisturbed, serene, quiet...
    I moved on,
    past your white belly, lower,
    I stopped.

    Where have you been?
    you asked, breaking the magic.
    How do you know? I froze time,
    I answered, trying to restore the magic.
    You left that hole in the wall, my butt froze too,
    you answered, caring not for the magic.

    I pressed my open palm against your lower abdomen,
    the tips of my fingers just beneath your navel,
    the hollow of my palm crushing its life-line against the raspberry bunches
    and squashing them on your tense flesh till a sweet-sour smelling mush
    started oozing between the roots of my fingers,
    while the heel of my hand slowly started pushing
    against that mound of feminine delicate intricacies
    now about to break through the chain of modesty
    straight into the fabric of momentary timelessness...
    Your pelvis shot upwards, trying to reach my mouth,
    I gently pushed it back down
    fighting against tenacious resistance every inch of the way
    a hot throb enchasing cinders under my skin
    and working its way to the back of my hand
    through tendons and muscles and tiny bones,
    while hand, then fingers
    started moving downwards massaging the sticky sap
    into your need, and moans, and insides...
    I could not hold back your gale any longer,
    you broke through my defenses defeating the steel of my muscle
    and your fulminating intimacy crashed against my face
    offering my mouth your raspberries, your chalice, your forest wine.

    I donít remember the scream or the song, mine or yours?
    as orbits changed and planets stuttered
    and a drunken perihelion dropped me into the sun to burn to never return.


    I dressed, quietly. You watched me without interrupting me even once, your eyes clicking frames into your memory for later rummage and ransack and pain. I finished tying my shoes, zipped my suitcase shut, refusing to look at you afraid the shine in my eyes might blind you... It probably would not, it was reflecting only a single sixty watt light bulb. Then why did I see everything so blurred?

    ďIs it the end of Elysium or the beginning of Hades?Ē you asked.

    ďThere is Lethe in between,Ē I answered, remembering mythology and refusing logic.

    ďI prefer Hades. At least I know where I am. And I know it too well.Ē Pride, obstinacy, defiance. And that endless agony of getting a glimpse of that elusive Elysium. ďIs it the end of... poetry?Ē you asked further, hesitating for the first time, and for the first time I could hear the knot in your throat.

    I kissed you with a passion I did not know I possessed, even at the preceding moments of abysmal mind and body abandon.

    ďNever,Ē I answered, licking the blood from my lip and clicking the door shut on my life.


    Before death,

    I fall asleep beneath a bench
    inside a fog of humid stench,
    the bats,
    the cats,
    the drunken rats,
    the buzzing clouds of flying gnats,
    one tender, sweet, enchanting wench,
    and stinking rye in broken vats.

    I puke, then roll away the rags
    and weakly hug my plastic bags,
    dead rhymes,
    lost chimes,
    forgotten times,
    confessions to a loverís crimes,
    her beauty... suns eleven drags,
    my hazy mind a poetís mimes.

    The dragonís lair infests the worm,
    in blazing eyes decays the storm,
    the well
    a shell,
    the fearsome knell
    dons guileful guise of tinkling bell,
    adoring stars embrace her form,
    and welcomes me to sprawling hell.




    If I be the reason
    For your cloud of season
    Then pull down the curtain
    No longer uncertain
    Thereís skies to your eyes and no walls to my prison.

    Of passions decaying
    And memories slaying
    And bottoms of rivers
    Strewn hungering shivers
    I raved when I craved, at my yesterdays baying.

    Now moments forgotten
    And dreams misbegotten
    My mattress are lining
    Tomorrows confining
    To one single sheet of embracing white cotton.




    Under the same cover
    one inch of desire in between
    empty, hungry, demanding,
    is it between our toes, hips?

    Your hair tickles my face
    no inches there.

    I can smell your skin
    you smell like apricots brandy,
    what will they invent next... blueberry fudge shampoo?
    I cannot smell your tooth paste though I try
    as almost imperceptible whiffs of another kind of smell
    test my nostrils, timidly still,
    gliding upwards from underneath the covers...
    I sense your thighs squeezing against each other...

    You turn on your side
    and your right breast falls on my upper arm
    the one inch dying a sudden zero death,
    I shiver.
    You want me.

    I hesitate moments before oblivion
    what do I prefer
    the miles long fall to the floor on the left side of my bed
    voraciously inviting me to a cold hard hell
    or the steel-hard nipple protesting my ignorance
    and cutting one long furrow into my right bicep?
    My mind is set.
    I start rolling leftwards towards the abyss
    when your hand shoots down beneath my navel
    catching the disoriented piece of straining flesh
    unable to hide its modest presence anymore
    and with one mighty shove you pull us both on top of you
    opening your thighs wide
    and guiding us to perdition inside that bubbling fountain of lust
    demanding me to release the Cerberus from its ageless chains...
    I let go,
    and the roaring howl of uncounted heads
    reverberate between the small roomís walls
    as our teeth clash and our fingers break
    and our belliesí muscles tie seven Gordian knots
    around seventeen collapsing suns...


    You fall asleep,
    finally sated,
    the one inch between us jealously guarding the persistent pungent odors
    slowly solidifying into a smothering cast
    of honey ribbons
    and yawning stars
    and crushed lilacs in bloom.




    And now just up, and leave behind
    Those broken cogs inside your mind
    And kick to hell the frightened mice
    Beyond your green of pretty eyes
    Youíre one of kind.

    You want a mane? Iíll lend you one
    To growl till cracks besiege the sun
    And with a claw finding its grip
    The hug of haze from brain to rip
    And roar like none.

    You want to find the bliss in sin?
    Iíll turn your hide to liquid skin
    Until the pain turns pleasure raw
    And passion paints your flesh aglow
    Your moans to glean.

    You want my pen? Iíll grant you two
    To dip inside your blend of hue,
    That secret mix of word and clay,
    Your song, your bark, your magic way,
    Thereís none like you.