Hobbies - Poetry - AnonymousGreen
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Right Breast

    I asked her... "Are you dragon?"
    She answered "Yes, I am woman."

    Then she curled round and round and round me
    Her tail locking my ankles together
    A torrential rain of red-hot coal pouring from her mouth
    And enveloping my body in an incandescent tomb.
    "Fire..." I said.
    "Liar you said?..."
    "Torment..." I said.
    "Torrent you said?..."
    I started sweating.
    "You are sweating, my love."
    "I am hallucinating."
    "Are you?..." she asked,
    Uncurling in a never ending sliding motion from around me
    Picking up the last of the glowing embers from her right breast
    And forcing it between my lips.
    I could not answer as my hallucination became nightmare
    And my nightmare became reality
    And I started disintegrating from my lips onwards
    Till all of my body became a mass of shapeless agony
    Combusting on its own endless internal pyre.
    "Are you smiling my love?" she asked,
    "Are you smiling my love?" she asked,
    "Are you smiling my love?" she asked,
    Knowing damn well I could not answer any of these questions
    With a mouth full of hell.

    I asked her... "Do you love me?"
    She answered "Yes, I love poetry."

    She turned her back to me and fell asleep.
    "Do you sleep, my love?"
    "Yes," she answered, snoring lightly.
    I picked the triple pointed goose-quill she offered me this morning...
    "...I bought it for a hump of money..." she lied offering it to me
    Knowing I have seen her earlier on chasing that goose in the courtyard
    Till it finally escaped, one feather less and one human less hanging to its tail...
    I picked the triple pointed goose-quill she offered me this morning,
    Dipped it in my mouth and started rhyming on her skin.
    "You tickle," she complained.
    "You sleep," I wrote and she stopped complaining.
    I continued writing,
    The sinewy triple lines undulating,
    Nearing, intersecting, separating again,
    The perfect calligraphy of my hand
    Trying to imitate the perfect calligraphy of her body...
    In vain...

          You are sleeping
          Morning's ripping
          Clumps of night around your skin,
          Lost invading
          Dreams are fading
          Through awaking crumbs of sin...

    I stopped.
    "More sin..." she begged turning around,
    The virginal whiteness of her skin offering the most intricate of freckle designs
    As background to my never resting triple pointed quill
    Not lifting it for one moment
    The triple line running from her back long her hip up her belly to her chest
    Where I kept writing under the shadow of her right breast.

          Shadows hugging
          Vainly tugging
          Melt despairing in the sun,
          Lilac showers
          Sprinkle flowers
          On the trail of passion's run...

    I stopped.
    "More passion..." she murmured,
    Her voice muffled with my kiss.
    I kept writing incessantly,
    When my right hand tired I moved the quill to my left hand,
    When this one tired I moved it to my toes, then to my mouth.
    She kept rolling, and turning,
    And squirming as from time to time I touched a sensitive spot,
    Exposing every patch of her breathing canvas
    To the spoiled exigencies of my barely visible ink,
    Her skin as brittle as parched papyrus rolls,
    Red dots marking the spots where passion blinded reason
    And the quill pierced skin, flesh, drawing blood,
    The text dense,
    Letter chained to letter chained to letter chained to letter
    Except for one lone island bare and barren,
    White, immaculate, soft, unblemished.
    Her right breast.

    I dropped the quill, sharpened my index fingernail and split it in two,
    Pricked her index finger and dipped my fingernail in the red ink
    And started writing around the bottom of her breast in thin fine write
    Ascending constantly...

    "Love love love..."
    "What are you writing love?..."
    "Love love love..."
    "What are you saying love?..."
    "Love love love..."
    Finally I reached the nipple and started writing all around it
    And before it had the time to lose its rigidity
    I covered its top with cobweb thin letters
    "Love love love..."
    "You are crazy my love love love..." she loved in my ears.
    I bent over and started licking away the words I had so much pain writing.
    "And what are you doing now?..." she giggled.
    "Sucking your blood, my love.
    Sucking your blood into my love.
    Sucking your love into my blood."
    "You are a poet," she said.
    "You love poetry you said," I said.

    I asked her... "Will you leave me?"
    She hesitated.

    "You hesitate..." I said reproachfully, one hour later.
    "I do not hesitate," she answered, "I count."
    "You count what?"
    "The grains of sand left till end of time."
    She pirouetted on her left stretched toes then sat in my lap again.
    "And why would you count those?...
    It will take you an eternity..." I complained, pouting,
    "And I will die before I have my answer, " I added.
    "I want to be honest with you," she sang rhymelessly, innocently,
    "I want to give you a most accurate answer,
    The problem is that the count changes all the time,
    Each time a grain falls I have to start counting all over again.
    I am still stuck at the count of one."

    She pushed my pouting bottom lip back in with her index finger
    Pushed my nose out of the way with the same finger
    And kissed me sideways.
    "And why did you do that?"
    "Too many 'why's in one session..." she answered
    Letting my nose fall back in place and pulling out again my bottom lip,
    "It helps me count better..."
    I panicked.
    "And what number did you reach already?"
    She did not smile at the shiver in my voice, it pained her,
    She opened her shirt, took her right breast out and forced my lips against it.
    "This is to keep you quiet..." she said, adding
    "I reached 'two'..." and waited for my reaction.
    I was too busy burning and dying to pay any attention to the disturbing news.

    I did not see it but I heard her smile
    As she approached her mouth to my ear and whispered so no one would hear...
    "...and only because I cheated..."

          Those desiring
          Never tiring
          Roving fingers in my wound,
          Damn you charmer
          Pierce my armor
          Keep my heart with yours festooned.

    I remember fire, I remember fire, I remember fire...



Passionate Moments, Five

    in collection: passionate moments

    I ride,
    The wind surging
    Enveloping my chest
    Freezing fingers turning caress
    To pain...

    I fall
    Hitting the ground
    The wind ripping my cloth
    Curling its breath round my crave... urge...

    Your mouth
    Hurricane wench
    Screaming adulation
    As you inhale with my fire
    Hell's rage...

    Storm's gone
    Your scream now... breeze,
    My tortured body drained, smiling
    As you whiff away carrying
    My seed...




    Green flames,
    Forest fire
    Lambent upon my skin,
    Nipples scorch my mouth, my lava



The Creator And The Poet

    Poet, if I gifted thee
    With my garden's singing tree
    Morning's whispers to inspire
    Night time's runes to set afire,
    What's its voice shall be?

    Make it tinkling spring of mountain
    Suckling from the birthing fountain,
    Lark's eternal journey home
    Trilling lost through forest's dome,
    Rolling pebble's cheerful chatter
    Weaving glints in raindrops' patter...

    Poet, if thy dimming glow
    With my sunset I bestow
    Sowing nuphars on the mire
    Lining blue the red of fire,
    What's its light shall show?

    Make it drooping polar curtain
    Pulsing with a flame uncertain,
    Desert's crawling carpet stain
    Blooming in the wake of rain,
    Vulcan's lurid rage one morning
    Weeding life with heedless warning...

    Poet, if my craft be thine
    World with tip of pen design
    Trading riches for your lyre
    Might to trade for your desire,
    What's its life shall shine?

    Make I will amidst of heather
    Nest of leaves and bed of feather
    Coral beads and silken string
    Autumn's breath with tints of spring
    Breeze of cloud and rhyme of sky
    For my soft of breast and eye.

    If my power,
    All of mine?

    Just her flower,
    And her wine...




    Time moths,
    Abominable creatures
    Snuggling contentedly inside my disintegrated past
    Peeking past today's collapsing bridge
    Set on devouring my future,
    Nibbles irretrievably lost
    As scurrying minutes gather into hour tribes
    And hour tribes into year nations
    And nations march onward, conquerors, unstoppable.

    Freezing wind,
    Howling despot
    Slithering through the emptiness of burrowed corridors
    Emptied of essence, of memories,
    Empty of minutes,
    Moths... dying, decaying with my body.

    I felt the softness of skin upon my skin,
    "You are delirious..." a green voice whispered.
    "Your voice is green..." I think I said.

    A fingertip started plastering the holes traversing my mind, my flesh,
    Dipping into the depths of a boiling well
    Then smoothing languidly my skin,
    Dipping, then smoothing again...
    Another fingertip joining, or was it a tongue tip?...
    "Moths, eating away my tomorrows..." I think I said.
    "Green grapes is my nipples' wine..." a delirious voice whispered.
    "Your green is delirious..." I think I said.
    The boiling well turned into a mouth
    Closing the tiny wounds one by one,
    So many of them...

    "You cannot do it..." I think I said... "... it is irreversible..." I think I said.
    The nations stopped,
    The tribes dispersed
    Moths freezing in mid motion...
    "How did you do it?..." I think I asked.

    a green voice whispered.





    It fell on my head... from the sky?

    I felt like a poet riding an inspiration trough
    Compensating for the aridity of his plowing fields
    With the melodrama of beautiful words
    And avidity of readers...
    ... angel, soul, heaven...
    Now I was using... sky.

    I touched the wet spot with my fingers
    Feeling the cut in my skin
    The dent in my cranium
    And the sticky red oozing long my ear
    Mixed with pieces of hair and seborrhea...
    Damn useless shampoo, I thought,
    Afraid to think of anything else
    And glad to have found such an uneloquent word
    To mix with the earlier abused sky.

    shampoo, oh my,
    keep me clean,
    lean and mean...

    Stop it!

    I looked up, blue unending,
    Blue, blue, blue,
    End to end, horizon to horizon
    Except for the yellow round hole opening straight into hell
    And licking my retina with a thin burning tongue...
    Stop that cloud! I shouted
    Blushing immediately
    And looking sheepishly around afraid to have made an ass of myself
    And be branded with Cain's mark for ridicule on my forehead forever...
    There was no one around to brand me.
    I was alone in the middle of a flowers field,
    End to end, horizon to horizon
    My bare feet knee deep in dandelions and gardenias and roses and daisies
    and narcissi and poppies and tulips and carnations
    And when did I bare myself of all my clothes? I asked myself
    Watching a small pile of charred garments not far away
    Still smoldering, a few pearl buttons popping like gun shots.

    I watched the cloud again,
    Never've seen its like before
    Almost perfect cigar shape, smooth,
    A flurry of grey and white rolling round its surface
    And black veins seemingly appearing and disappearing
    Like miniature cracks on an eggshell.
    It seemed to be rushing as if driven by a hurricane
    Passed in front of the yellow hole, I closed my eyes
    When I opened them again it was gone.

    I kept my face up,
    Pink stained snowflakes floating slowly down
    Covering the field with a thin layer of glinting wonder
    Then, after hesitating slightly, melting into round blobs of dew,
    Some on my eyes, between my lips,
    Snowflakes in August? I laughed to myself knowing I was mad
    And deciding that crimson is the color I should have used, not pink.
    Poor crimson, so overly abused by poets,
    It's time someone does something about it.

    I lay down,
    Picked the shapeless piece of marble and hugged it to my chest
    And fell asleep.


    I squeezed the marble shard in my fist
    Finding a narrow spot where my fingers could encircle it fully,
    The sharp end bearing the leftover stains of my blood glowing strangely
    As if dipped in a phosphorescent dark red
    Losing life drops measured in firefly glints.
    The reflected crescent rolled inside the rolling dew blobs
    As they kept dropping from leaves and petals
    And rolling away under my soles carrying me like a bed of crystal beads
    Undecided between a fate of splashing and soaking into the ground
    Or insisting on the ephemeral pleasures of another cool night
    Before a glaring sun mercilessly pads with them its furnace.

    Stars kept raining.
    Some scraping glowing traces down my chest, back,
    Some sizzling to explosive deaths in the rustle of the flowers bed
    Sparks reaching me and igniting my eyelashes into incandescent curtains
    Desirous of eternally wiping away dreamland images.

    I kept squeezing,
    Crumbling pieces of mud peeling away from the marble's skin
    Enviously trying to climb into my eyes and blind me
    Yet never reaching beyond my chin as my breath started building into a hurricane
    A lightning leash strapped around my neck
    Tiny suns incessantly getting born only to fizzle away like the white foam
    Sliding down the outer walls of an overfilled glass of cool beer...

    approach my eye,
    drink your beer,
    have no fear...

    Stop it!

    The screaming echo reverberated on my skin
    Rushing onwards to find a mountain and getting lost with no return.
    My fist relentlessly squeezing,
    Tendons stretching from fingers long forearm up shoulder, neck,
    Steel cords knot ridden vibrating in silver tones,
    The marble melting
    Flowing away between my fingers
    Long fluid appendages streaming out from a shaping body
    Trying to assess a decision taken for it to live
    Sharp nails sinking into the beat of my veins and discovering warmth,
    Blood, life... I heard a sucking sound, a gasp...

    I shuddered at the sudden scream
    As the muscular snake metamorphosed into white flesh
    The gurgling sound changed into woman's scream
    Breasts ravaged my belly
    And teeth ripped my last anchor into reality
    Setting me free upon the colorless flowers...
    I started singing her beauty
    Oh, my voice such a coarse rasp inside a choir of melting icicle flutes...


    ...clinging vines roll curling tendrils up a night's evasive sighs
    hiding buds of dimming moonlight in your forest laden eyes,
    crimpled ribbons long your fingers braid the red into your lips
    as a daring grain of crystal from your breast its timbre nips,

    wreaths undone watch brittle petals turning lilac-scented dust
    seeding through deserted senses virgin orchards seething lust,
    fingers touch departing pleasures groping deep into the thirst
    and a whisper chants in secret words of promise... you're the first...

    The silence so silent...
    This is no lullaby... she sang.
    I did not respond.
    This is love... she sang.
    I did not respond.
    The snow is melting in my veins,
    The sun is rising in my chest,
    Desire awakens in my breast and fire rips open the tips of my fingers...
    Feel it?...
    she sang
    Touching the left corner of my mouth, burning it.
    I did not respond.
    I responded
    Because if I respond I wake up and you are a piece of broken marble
    And I am an insane poet
    And the flowers are pebbles
    And you are not
    And I never was...

    I responded
    Knowing I wake up and she is a piece of broken marble
    And I am an insane poet
    And the flowers are pebbles
    And she is not
    And I never was...

    I woke up.
    And the burning sensation at the left corner of my mouth told me
    She is.
    And I am.




    I wished my poetry sublime,
    The words upon your page
    Rewriting life in lilting rhyme
    As dreams betray my age.

    I tried to borrow lonesome words
    From legends eons old,
    And steal from morning's crooning birds
    Some feathers dipped in gold.

    I asked blue butterflies advice
    About the missing tints,
    And tried to fit each grain of rice
    With broken rainbow glints.

    I begged, I screamed, I clawed the rungs
    And squeezed through helldom's straits
    But all I gathered in my lungs
    Was rust from heaven's gates.

    Then finally I bowed my head
    And sadly closed my eyes
    Upon a bare and barren bed
    In wait for grey demise.

    A voice... no angel, woman's blend
    Then touched my blazing brow
    You are my love, my mate, my friend,
    You own my heart, my vow...

    Inside a tome's eternal tomb
    Soft words from pages drip,
    Inside a poem's rocking womb
    My love and I... asleep...



Passionate Moments, Six

    in collection: passionate moments

    I don’t want your body.
    I want your sunrise
    As I sit on the porch
    Counting drops of dew sliding off leaves
    Chasing sleepy larks to their treetops duty
    Gazing defiantly into the mounting one eyed fire monster
    Waiting for the moment when I hear the door screeching on its hinges
    And I turn around
    Carefully putting my sunglasses on
    As your figure emerges from behind the door
    Your blaze blinding
    And behind me thousands of sunflowers
    Interrupt their matinal gossip
    As lazily they turn scrawny necks towards your warmth and beauty...

    I think I saw the sun hesitating for a moment
    Uncertain in its ascent
    Then finally admitting defeat and as a true gentleman
    Sending a bouquet of red sunrays to bathe in your eyes...
    I wish I was as gentlemanly myself
    When in a fit of jealousy I sent you a bouquet of letters
    Ending with the question of... do you love me?...

    I don’t want your soul.
    I want your sunset
    As I sit on the porch
    Filling up rows of glass jars with the sparkle of fireflies
    Saturating my lungs with foreign scents stolen by a friendly breeze
    Watching tiny flares fill up sky’s vast gardens with glimmering life
    Waiting for the moment when I hear soft footsteps nearing me
    And I turn around
    The jars crashing down with a sound of breaking glass
    As the pale stain of your face approaches me in the descending dark
    Radiating warmth
    And the glitter of thousands of winged ephemeral stars rises from the floor
    Forgetting their primeval duties to the night
    As clouds of phosphorescent magic start revolving around your glow...
    I think I saw the moon hesitating for a moment
    Uncertain in its ascent
    Then finally admitting defeat and as a true friend
    Sending a bouquet of cascading stars to explode in your eyes...
    I wish I was as friendly myself
    When thoughts eroding my self confidence merged into a bouquet of letters
    Composing sentences ending with... do you love me?...

    “No,” you said, “I do not love you.
    I do not give you my body,
    I do not give you my soul.
    I do not love you.”

    I cringed. You continued.
    “I give you my sunrise.
    I give you my sunset.”

    You looked up at me.
    “You are my love.
    I give you my life.”



Passionate Moments, Seven

    in collection: passionate moments

    My boy,

    Untie the ribbons from my hair
    And tie my hands,
    Untie the laces from my shoes
    And let me pay my lover dues
    As on a bed of whitest sands
    Your finger fire flowers brands
    Inside my flesh
    Upon my skin
    And from my eyes down to my chin,
    Attach my ankles to a tree
    And as I sink in vengeful sea
    Make love to me...

    My girl,

    To hide your ribbons red and green
    Inside my lair,
    The laces from your shoes to steal
    And satin from your skin to peel
    Until your pale is lying bare
    Absorbing drops of drunken flare
    Evading lips
    Alight with sighs
    In love with flaming summer skies,
    Erase my mind with eyelid's dew
    And let me crumble as I do
    Make love to you...



Sadness Drops, One

    in collection: sadness drops

    Lashing with a deadly claw,
    Then back to her cubs,
    Picking each between death's teeth
    And biting into them tenderness, care,

    Cubs grow into beautiful beasts
    A growl, a final snap
    And they leave her side
    As she licks the blood away from a torn lip.



Sadness Drops, Two

    in collection: sadness drops

    The green in your pain
    That tenderness stain...
    Illusions unborn
    Tomorrows forlorn
    Yet sun in your rain...

    The smile in your cringe
    That caressing fringe...
    Desires demised
    Aspires despised
    Yet soothe in your twinge...

    The pearl in your fist
    That light in the mist...
    Enchant is your art
    Forgive is your heart
    And love is your gist...



Sadness Drops, Three

    in collection: sadness drops

    The quiet,
    Powerful like a God in his kingdom...
    I smile thinking how you would jump all over me
    God? His?
    What about Goddess? Her?

    And we would end the argument making love
    Because this would have been the reason for starting the argument at all,
    Who cares about the sex of sexless beings anyway?

    My mind wanders trying to get away from the reality,
    From the quiet,
    Finishing inexplicably back home,
    There, where your quiet reigns.



Could It Be... Love?

    I cut my finger and you smiled
    "Your cut so thin, your pain so mild,"
    You pulled one button, tore the rest
    And ripped the lace guarding your breast,
    I gazed at wounds three inches deep
    A lazy crimson's steady drip,
    I quailed... "...my child,
    My scrawny chest
    Demands the right to host your nest
    And ever weep."

    You simpered when I picked a rose
    "The pink is rune, the white is prose,"
    You crushed the petals in your fist
    The plowing thorns slashing your wrist
    Till life's pulsating balladeer
    Has sown its thousandth boiling tear,
    I gaped... "...it flows
    Like liquid mist
    Demanding only to be kissed
    And knows no fear."

    We could not help but laugh, then cry
    "By night so crude, by day so shy"
    You said, and led my gripping nails
    Along the gaping bloody trails,
    My hungry skin a rasping glove
    As fingers inside caverns shove,
    I winced... "...then why
    Your spirit sails
    And waning dreams each morning hails,
    Could it be... love?"



Sadness Drops, Four

    in collection: sadness drops

    Words on silver
    Old words
    Once carved on stone
    Then on parchment
    Finally on silver.
    Forgotten languages
    Unforgettable meaning
    Cast by minds great in the art of war
    And the art of love,
    Death and survival.
    The only arts humanity ever created.

    I see your mouth kissing the silver in your pain
    And as the silver melts the words encrust into the flesh of your lips.
    Maybe it helps,
    As drops of sadness sizzle and faint
    Inside red hot cages of passionate memories.



Alternate Reality Show, One

    in collection: alternate reality show

    Across the table from me
    The fork looking for the piece of potato
    The smile finding its way past the chewing jaws
    The left hand sneaking over
    And catching my right about to pick up a slice of tomato,
    Your eyes apologizing...
    "My food is insufficiently salted..." you claimed
    Justifying the flow of tears streaming onto your plate.

    I picked up your potato and let your teeth bite into it
    While you picked up my tomato slice and fed it into my mouth.
    We were still chewing when I leaned over the table
    And kissed your left eye
    Borrowing some spice...
    "My food is tasteless too..." I claimed in return
    Yet unable to explain the shiver running through my chest
    As I tried to steal a slice of bread approaching your mouth,
    My envy intense,
    My eyesight blurred...

    I still wonder why did our lips meet.
    After all we were hungry, hungry, hungry,
    And bodies cannot feed on lips.
    "Because we want to remember..." you answered.
    How did you guess my future question?... I asked myself
    Your top lip falling asleep between mine.



Alternate Reality Show, Two

    in collection: alternate reality show

    It was almost eight o'clock,
    Darkness started settling in, the heat still blasting at us.
    I needed five bucks and twenty seven cents,
    All I had was five twenty four
    "Do you have three cents?" I asked her.
    "Maybe..." she answered coyly
    Counting the whole of three cents into my palm.
    I paid and moved away from the cashier.
    "Do you have three kisses?" I asked her.
    She seemed to contemplate the question for several minutes
    Before stopping the car, forcing me to face her and biting into my mouth.
    "Just one?" I asked disappointed once she opened her teeth
    Releasing my lips.
    "Stingy!..." I continued my melodrama,
    Clueless if I was seriously playing with words and accents.
    "Tsk, tsk..." was her economical answer
    Saving on words thus proving me absolutely right.
    "You are mistaken..." she smiled further
    Thus proving me absolutely wrong.
    "Did you see the time?"
    I looked at the dashboard clock, five minutes past eight,
    So what?
    "So what? So it was a long kiss. Still only one kiss."
    She watched me intently,
    The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deeper,
    Her lips fuller,
    Her breasts softer.
    I blinked embarrassed.
    "I love you," I said, trying to win back her smile.
    "Did you see the time?" she insisted
    Crushing my fingers in her hold.
    "Of course, I saw the time," I answered
    Keeping the impatience out of my voice
    And the wince out of my face.
    My eyes slid to the contraption glued underneath the clock
    Where a countdown timer counted the seconds left to the century's end.
    I was always good at math,
    Even without a calculator.

    She had to support me upright because I was about to faint.
    "What is that?..." my voice was shivering.
    "Twelve years... later?..." ... my math was damn good...
    "Tsk, tsk..." she quoted a memory of her thrifty self, smiling again.
    "It is just one kiss later." Wink. "There are two more to deliver."



Alternate Reality Show, Three

    in collection: alternate reality show

    I tied her wrists with my belt.
    Then I removed her left shoe...
    "Take the right one..." she said.
    I fit back the left shoe,
    Removed the right one, removed the shoelace
    And tied her ankles.
    Then I carried her to the bed,
    Laid her upon the blanket and scratched my head.
    "I guess you have to open them..." she said.
    I unfastened the belt,
    The shoelace,
    Undressed her
    Then tied her up again.
    I sat down at the table and started reading my poetry to her.
    She smiled till she fell asleep in the middle of a delicate yawn.
    I kept reading aloud for another hour.
    I stretched next to her
    Buried my head in her hair and fell asleep immediately.

    I woke up.
    I was naked, tied with my belt and her shoelace
    And she was sitting at the table reading her poetry aloud.
    She saw me opening my eyes.
    "Why did you tie me?" she asked.
    "So you would not run away when hearing my poetry," I answered.
    "Why did you undress me?" she asked.
    "So you would not run away when hearing my poetry," I answered.
    She stopped asking and continued reading.
    "Why did you tie me?" I asked.
    "So I will make love to you," she answered.
    "Why did you undress me?" I asked.
    "So I will make love to you," she answered.
    She kept reading aloud for another hour.
    "I love your poetry," I said.
    "You are biased," she answered
    Closing her notebook, untying me, and making love to me.

    "So you would not have run away anyway?" I asked later.
    "So you would have made love to me anyway?" she asked later.
    Or maybe she asked first,
    I do not remember.
    I undressed her.
    "You undressed me already," she said.
    I made love to her.
    "You made love to me already," she said.
    I knew something was wrong with my writing,
    With my reality.
    I read poetry to her
    Waiting to hear that I did it already.
    She did not say it. She was not asleep.
    "I love your poetry," she said.
    "You are biased," I answered, untying her.
    "I am untied already," she said.
    I felt a bit like in an Escher drawing
    Squeezing four dimensional impressions in my three dimensional reality
    Or maybe the other way around.
    "You are pouting," she snuggled into me, pouting.
    I read her my last poem.
    "Why did she ask you to remove her right shoe?" she asked me, puzzled.
    "I guess because she loved me madly," was my meaningless answer.
    "I do," she said,
    Kicked away her left shoe and started writing a new poem.
    After we finished making love she asked me
    "Why did you write she started writing a new poem?
    We made love."

    "Because in this reality this is the way. Or was.
    Does not matter."
    "You mean the way she made love?"
    "I mean she wrote a poem."
    The answer seemed to satisfy her.
    I always knew women to be irrational...
    ...she poked me in the ribs...
    I never knew women to love so deeply...
    ...she kissed me and stole several liters of air from my lungs...
    I guess it is time to return to reality...
    ...was, she whispered, her mouth against my eye
    Ensuring I get the message with at least two senses.
    Message? What message, I guess you overestimate my intuition
    I wrote in my poem
    And we kept whispering rhymes into each other's eyes.

    I identified yesterday on the calendar,
    Wrote on it reality
    And tore all the following pages.

    Liar, you get it... she chimed,
    Lover, I love you... I rhymed,
    Reality's dreamland... she chimed,
    Eternity's promise... I rhymed.

    "We make no sense," she said
    Her smile cutting deep furrows into her cheeks.
    "We are lovers," I said
    Burning the calendar pages and blowing the ashes into the air.
    "Forever?" she asked.
    "Forever?" I asked.
    "Forever," she said.
    "Forever," I said.

    We never stopped writing poetry.
    "Making love..." she corrected me
    Innocently writing rhyming pearls on my eyes.
    I did not mind, we were in love.
    "Forever," she said.
    "Forever," I said.




    Sit by me,
    Here, on the bench.
    Drop your shoes and pull your feet up.
    Yes, you may take my left hand in yours,
    Even twine your fingers in mine...
    Hey... you don't have to kiss my fingers...
    Or bite them... ouch...
    Or... or... mmmmm... I don't mind you doing that again...

    Is it ten years already?
    I did not feel time, I did not feel love...
    Wait, wait... don't pinch me, let me finish the sentence,
    I did not feel love diminishing for one moment in ten years...
    Now you smile, do you?
    You should always let me finish my sentences, and you know it,
    Like letting me finish my kisses...
    Ok, Ok... don't let me finish my kisses, fine,
    Then like letting me finish making love...
    Ok, Ok... neither this one you will let me finish...
    So like...
    What are you doing?... people are staring...

    Three hours forty seven minutes later...

    And now I want my lips back, you mongrel... both of them...
    No, I don't want my years back
    Except those before I met you,
    I wish I could reap those with my left hand, glean the shards and leftovers
    Wrap it all in green ribbon
    And offer the bouquet to you.
    My right hand?
    Ever caressing your hair, touching your eyes, tending to your heart,
    Testing the reality of your breast,
    Catching you when you fall,
    If I forget thee o wife may my right forget its cunning...
    You cry? Why would you cry because I love you?

    Forgive me.
    For hurting you, remember?
    For not seeing what I should have seen,
    For letting wells find a haven behind the sanctuary of your eyes,
    For promising sun and delivering rainbows,
    I never wished to,
    I loved you so much and yet...
    You still don't remember?
    When I...

    One hour sixteen minutes later...


    Fifty four minutes later...

    Love, are your kisses getting shorter?

    One hour thirty five breathless minutes later...

    Sorry, must be my biological clock...
    No, this is not a sheepish smile,
    You do remember the love is what you say,
    What you kiss, with your kiss?
    You do remember to forget all but all which is to remember?
    I have to think about this sentence,
    Sounds sneaky to me,
    I wonder... do you really love me?... ouch...
    That hurt... ouch... that hurt too...

    Two hours forty six minutes later...

    I guess you do...
    My lips are bleeding,
    Do you mind making them bleed once more?
    You drank enough? I did not love enough.
    Can you tell me again how big you love me?
    I know this is lousy phrasing but can you tell me again how big you love me?
    Ok, not big, then how huge you love me?
    I know I am silly, ain't I the silly butt
    The one whom next year you will have loved for eleven years?
    And the year after for twenty two years?
    Time flies, doesn't it, when you're in love
    And have so many question marks in one stanza?

    I like it, sitting like this with you,
    On the bench,
    Every year for our anniversary
    I talk nonsense and you kiss me senseless
    And your hand forgets itself in my pocket
    Trying to feel the warmth of my skin trough the thinness of the pocket's fabric
    And my hand sneaks underneath your sweat shirt
    Stealing cups of love from the source of life and asking for encore's
    And passers by look embarrassed elsewhere
    As we love and we love and we love... no, I don't stutter you witch...
    I just ask you do you love me?

    And when I ask you do you love me?
    Once more
    All I remember is waking up...

    One lifetime twenty three minutes later...

    Ok, I may have exaggerated a bit,
    Forget the minutes...




    I walk long Homesick Avenue
    The branches sag with morning's dew
    A green caress bedaubs my brow
    As I ignore a flirting bough
    ...and missing you.

    Then turn into Forgotten Bliss
    A bench asleep in dreamless peace
    Bares shameless verses out of tune
    Carved in its flesh each passing June
    ...and you to miss.

    A narrow path called Lovers' Row
    Old crumbling leaves in silence glow
    And scamper round in faithful wait
    As they remember lovers' gait
    ...and miss you so.

    I reach the lane This Endless Sea
    The starlight studded dark marquee
    Cries falling stars into the night
    And sadly drags its crescent kite
    ...do you miss me?




    You did it again.
    Crawled to my side of bed taking it over almost completely,
    Leaving me a narrow strip of real estate
    Barely sufficient to support half of my body
    The other half hanging precariously above a one foot high deadly drop,
    The tiled floor hungrily awaiting my downfall...
    "Don't worry..." were your first two words,
    Same as always
    As your hands encircled my chest like a steel safety net
    And I knew I was safer than a baby in a mother's belly,
    "Tell me..." were your next two words,
    Same as always
    As you closed your eyes
    And your mouth neared my ear till every time you inhaled
    My eardrum would pop out.

    Funny the way you thought you could listen with your mouth,
    Funny, you were always funny I thought,
    The way all you needed were the vibrations of my flesh
    Mixed with the vibrations of the air
    To translate anything I told you into your language.
    I know what you heard,
    I never could understand what language it was you listened in
    As I picked up the poetry book written in languages you'll never know
    Leaned it on the half of my chest still supported by the bed
    And started reading to you.

    You probably understood more than I did.
    I real almost automatically,
    The flow of symbols materializing through my eyes into my mouth as sounds
    Words I could understand if I wanted to
    Yet refused, trying to hear only the music of the rhyme the way you did,
    Emulating your senses, your love for me.

    I knew you were going to fall asleep,
    You always did.
    The steel net around me as safe as ever
    Your mind wandering over to other places
    Your dreams as vivid as a puppy's asleep on his favorite slipper,
    Your eyes agitated underneath your closed eyelashes
    Your feet kicking me lightly as they tried to run...
    I felt like calling... fetch, fetch... smiling, yet I feared stopping my read
    And the magic.
    Your fingers were permanently clasped, never releasing their unbreakable bond
    Crushing me
    And from time to time relieving slightly the pressure just when I struggled,
    Patches of silence decorating my gasps for air.

    Tell me, I thought on a parallel plane
    Not daring interrupt my reading a second
    Lest I fall to my death on the floor,
    Tell me, how the hell do you do it?
    I say floare
    And your nostrils flare,
    I say balaur
    And for short moments your left hand has to cope with my weight all by itself
    As your right shoots down pulling the sword from its sheath
    And after successfully pulling at some piece of my anatomy
    Returning to the lock circling my body.
    I say dragoste
    And I risk annihilation under the vise squeeze of your arms.

    You wake up.
    You pick a piece of paper and a pencil and scribble something
    Stuffing it into your wallet
    ("Why do you carry a wallet?" I once asked.
    "Do you see me carrying a purse?..." followed by a smack and a hug...).
    You bow.
    Kiss me.
    "I have to go," you say, cheeks flushed.
    You stop at the door, pensive.
    "Tell me," you ask, "how do you say 'flower' in this language?"
    "Floare," I say.
    "And 'dragon'?"
    "Balaur," I say.
    "And... 'love'?"
    You smile in some secret feminine smug way,
    Blow me a kiss across the room
    And hurriedly click the door shut behind you
    Before I have the time to rush over and drag you back to bed.

    I close the book,
    Close my eyes,
    Fighting the impulse and knowing I will fail,
    So why fight at all?
    I get up and approach the table on which you forgot your wallet,
    A corner of paper sticking out of it.
    I pull it, hesitating but never stopping
    Till all of the text you wrote lies in front of me. I smile.
    I guessed, yet I was not sure till I read.
    I lie back down, close my eyes,
    How the hell do you do it?
    floare... balaur... dragoste...
    How the hell did you know?

    I decide that I don't care.
    If this is the way you love me... is there a more perfect way?




    The night suspires agony beneath its mourning veil
    Asleep inside the lonely cell of Lethe's boundless jail,
    I push the lamp's red abat-jour till shadows greet your eyes
    Asleep beneath soft hingeless doors awaiting morning's rise.

    Its bridal train lost times ago the uncorrupted white
    Escaping sparkles sowing suns with picayune delight,
    You roll upon the creaking bed denuding half a breast
    Escaping sighs abetting lust my sanity molest.

    Detested rainbows' dirty stains besmear a haggard face
    Departing lights blink into death long paths devoid of trace,
    My pencil drops upon the desk as you approach my shape
    Departing dreams rush back to shore as underneath you scrape...

    And night has parted into naught to never wake again
    And nothing's left but nothingness... and one and lonely stain...
    You pierce your heart... your finger picks one single drop of rhyme
    And nothing's left upon my lips but love to end of time.




    Your tears I wish to dry with songs
    But all I have is random words
    Grazing through dreams like mindless herds
    Oblivious to rights or wrongs.

    My tears deny the right to flow into the chilly air
    Ensconced in tides awaiting sign to tear the dams apart
    And flood the melancholy fields about to rape my heart
    With salted cherries groomed to age in gardens of despair.

    Your sighs I reach to reap with dreams
    Yet lonesome notes escape my lips
    Till silence through my kingdom creeps
    Undoing hope along its seams.

    My sighs claim innocence of cause as quivers cross my bone
    The sanctuary of my chest seethes rich in whispered rain
    About to spill into my world the condescending bane
    And seat it on the empty chair of love's forgotten throne.

    Your pains I try to soothe with rhymes
    Though colors stain my stream of verse
    And when the rainbow's lies disperse
    All that is left is hollow chimes.

    My pains curl lovingly inside my body's kinship bond
    Embracing muscle padded streets alight with bubbling red
    Demanding gently for the rights my inner self to shred
    Then guide me with a blazing whip to tender worlds beyond.

    Your tears your sighs your pains immense
    My songs my dreams my rhymes obscure
    Fail miserably to immure
    Tastes of your sweet magnificence.

    Your songs your dreams your rhymes suffuse my life with hues absurd
    My tears my sighs my pains to dry to reap to soothe with love
    And if tomorrow's mine to die I'll turn a mourning dove
    And you'll awake there by my side eternal mockingbird.




    Flowing up through the ever ascending riverbed of passion
    Dragging along the ever present gravitational hooks of reality
    And still climbing.
    At moments,
    Narrow mud filled passages try to bar its way
    And as it skids back on treacherous ground
    Memories about to happen send thin melodious fingers its way
    And muscles swell and tendons steel
    And hooks rip off falling to their death
    As it squirms back on its way,
    Invincible, bleeding, proud.

    Somewhere up there is the sea of serenity it will reach one day
    And finally lay its bones to rest.
    Wishing to reach it
    Wishing to never reach the finality of it.
    A short look back down the corroded mountain's passion path
    And the ascent starts again.


    You sit at the table,
    Arms on tabletop, head on arms,
    Eyes open.
    I am seated in the deep armchair,
    Miles from you. Reading the poem to you.
    "Is it about me?" you ask.
    "No," I say.
    "Is it about you?"
    "No, neither."
    "It is about us then," you decide,
    Insisting on a world where nothing exists except the two of us.
    "It is about love. Unending."
    Your head still leaning on your arms,
    Your eyes brighten.
    Then darken
    As big blobs steal the fireflies, landing in two pools on the table.
    "But you called it 'Flesh'..."
    Your tone accusing.
    "True," I say,
    "And the spirit driving the flesh is... love."
    I do not mean to sound mocking, it is not my intention.
    It comes out this way.
    You know better.
    The fireflies jump back into your eyes
    Leaving the desolate pools to fend for themselves
    As you jump into my lap
    Paper and pencil flying away
    With the heavy armchair tumbling over
    My head thumping on the floor
    And your weight crushing me.
    You pull up the hem of your t-shirt
    And pull it back down over my head
    Making sure my hands are on your breasts
    And my head is trapped together with yours in the narrow neck opening.
    I am choking, not minding it.
    "Let's create some of these memories about to happen," you say,
    The last words breathed mouth to mouth
    So I can only guess what you say.
    Lucky guess I guess.

    And the rest is... poetry, as they say...



Philosophies Of Love

    No, don't send me flowers, you said.
    By the time I get them
    The stems will brittle
    The petals will dry
    The scent will be lost in caverns of rot and wax and mildewy paper.

    Don't send me diamonds, you said.
    Presumptuous molecular wonders
    Void of heart
    Laden with knives cutting through light and slicing it to colors
    Barren of scent and of rot and of mildew.

    Do you think flowers hurt? I asked,
    When cut and assembled into the harmony of bouquets?
    Do you think light hurts
    When broken into dazzling smears dancing upon walls
    Translating into beauty by our assuming hearts?
    Like a caged bird,
    Does it sing happiness or sorrow?

    Send me words, you said.

    Words? I wondered.

    Words, you replied,
    Cutting without knives,
    Soothing with no medication,
    Nature's friends and lovers' balm.

    Words are cheap, I said.

    Words are priceless, you said.



The Well

    You lay down, shivering,
    Your face in the pillow,
    Your fingers hugging desperately to layers upon layers
    Of cotton and linen and wool
    Piled upon your naked body
    Your shiver never stopping.
    "Why?" I asked.
    "Why the shiver?
    Because my heart is empty
    And the flexible vessels touring my body are dry
    And my skin is cold.
    Blankets merely keep the warmth from dissipating,
    Now they merely keep the cold in..."

    I felt like crying. I did not cry.
    I touched one visible finger with my fingertip
    And snatched it back in agony
    The blister of cold burn threatening to explode.
    "Can I do something?" I asked.
    "Can you fill my heart?" was the answered question.
    Could I?
    "Will you allow me to try?"
    You turned till you lay on your back,
    Your cheeks your lips your eyes the uniform color of paleness
    A few smoldering strands of hair hinting at its once upon a time color.
    "What are you looking at?" you asked.
    "Extinguished fire."
    "Can you undo time?"
    "No. I can try to patch it."

    You started pulling off the blankets,
    You didn't want any help, insisted on doing it alone,
    Layer after layer after layer,
    I waited, fascinated,
    As colors changed and music and laments
    And rarely even the sparkle of laughter ringing.
    From time to time I dozed off
    Suddenly jumping up scared I may have missed the moment.
    How long did it take?
    A year? Years?

    I saw the last of the blankets coming off,
    Both of us hesitating,
    You... in hope, I... in uncertainty.
    It slowly slid to the ground
    The exclusive beauty of your feminine features blinding me in their paleness,
    In their expectation.
    I felt sudden envy towards the designing architect...
    "No, no need for envy," you thought into my mind
    As your ringless finger pushed on the third rib from the bottom of your chest
    And the chambers of your heart opened up to me.
    I looked inside. Deserted emptiness for as far as my eye could penetrate,
    Like a bottomless empty well.
    "Take it," you said
    Handing me on the tip of a finger the tiny blob of a frozen tear.
    I picked it, careful not to melt it,
    And dropped it into the well.
    I waited a few hours till I heard the faint thud
    Of something hitting a layer of thick mud.
    "It's not completely empty," I said, shivering in turn.
    "If it was I would have been dead," you smiled weakly
    Watching amused as thin spray whirled up from the dark opening
    And sprinkled my cheeks and eyelashes with random words.
    You blew away a few letters who insistently clung to my lips.
    "'Who'?" I asked a bit astonished.
    "Correct," you answered, "'who'.
    These are not random words, these are words waiting for a meaning,"
    you said.
    "They are part of me. They are alive."
    "Shall I try to fill it?" I asked. "The well."
    "Do you have magic?"
    "No," I answered, "I have words."
    "No," I answered. "Poems."
    "Are they as good as spells?"
    "I don't know. Never tried it before. Allow me to try?"
    You looked at me,
    Your irises undefined, the icicles on your lips beautiful, frightening.

    You closed your eyes.
    “Put your finger to my lips...”
    I was afraid, I hesitated...
    “Do it, please...” ...I did,
    And I saw the faintest stain of red soaking into your flesh
    As the ice melted against my fingertip burning it to the bone.
    “Put your lips to my breast...”
    And I did not hesitate again as the cool breeze of your life
    Merged with the hot storm of my breath
    And rage unbroken..
    “Do it...” I thought I heard you whispering
    And I started writing. With my finger. With my lips. With my heart.

    The emptiness so big...
    I felt lost at the beginning, looking for a corner of rock to hang on to,
    A tree to find my bearings by,
    I didn’t see sky and the echo was so slow in returning.
    I started writing,
    The flood not larger than the single drop sliding off a nightingale’s beak,
    Growing fast, gathering power, devastating,
    Turning as mindless as powerful as desert’s tide at first rain,
    Meaningless shapeless words knotting together in sparkling bundles,
    Lines, phrases chasing each other’s tail
    Trying to complete ideas, voices, philosophies,
    The crystal tinkling of rhymes dropping like shooting stars
    Down the depths of your well’s chambers,
    I whispered, I cried, I sighed, I fainted,
    I felt your nails digging into the nape of my neck
    I heard your broken whiffs of breath...
    Once started I could not stop...
    Was I nursing you life or killing you?
    I fell in,
    I drowned,
    I gasped for air...

    I woke up to chirrups... chirrups?
    Was it some long tarrying delusion finally overtaking my mind or...
    No, I listened attentively, chirrups...
    I was still in the room,
    I felt the softness of flesh underneath my finger, between my lips,
    I smelt the fragrance of freshly cut lawn and crushed white lilies...
    I jumped up
    Just in time to see the well closing upon the twinkle of an overflowing rim,
    As rosy petals flowered all over your skin
    And underneath the thin layer of skin squirming words
    Like living tattoos fought for a place of honor at the surface of your flesh
    Continuously flowing, laughing, playing...
    “What has happened?...” I asked waking up from the dream
    Rubbing my eyes and trying to discern your facial features
    Lost inside the clouds of white butterflies building up your pillow.
    All I could see was a smile,
    Between a pair of sunset red lips,
    Inside a pair of dew fresh grass blade green eyes,
    At the ends of rose pink fingertips luring me upwards towards your face
    And forcing my head in the nook between your head and shoulders
    Gently lulling me to sleep.
    Was there a ring on your ringless finger?
    “What happened?” I asked again, hoping to hear about my dream,
    Uncertain I wanted it to end...
    “Shush...” I heard the melody...
    “I am naked...” I blushed, sliding into the bliss of your caress...
    “Shush...” I heard the melody...
    “Where are my words?...” I asked, not hearing the answer anymore...
    “Shush...” lingered the melody upon my skin
    As you started singing words never before on your mind
    Rushing through your veins looking for the light
    Like young larks on their first flight
    Aspiring for the first of spring’s day for the first of sun’s rays
    And sliding towards the fire’s mouth till incandescent feathers drowned in brilliance
    The leaping crown’s flames
    And left behind just the absolute beauty
    Of awakening...




    The shroud around your head
    Black, invisible,
    As real as the crunch in your teeth
    And the crumbling beads of glass inside your tight small fist
    Cutting inside your palm and looking for a way to cut inside your heart.

    You did not say it, you did not tell,
    Just waited
    As I started cutting traces of light upon the enveloping darkness
    With lines, curves, points,
    Letters turning words turning sentences,
    Thin radiating squiggly shapes cutting through the shroud
    And allowing first traces of warmth to cut into your skin, into your cheeks
    Into your eyelashes,
    Finally into your eyes.
    My hand moving first hesitatingly then hysterically
    As your whispers of more... more...
    Turned to voice, then to laughter,
    I could not stop
    Like wearing magic dancing shoes and unable to stop dancing
    Not willing to stop dancing
    The cuts across the night wider, deeper,
    Chunks of black void falling down,
    Gusts of sun penetrating, liberating,
    I heard your deep powerful breath growling with the rage of life
    My hand never stopping,
    Waiting for the pen to dry up and then using my nails,
    Slashing, slashing
    Till they broke and I started biting
    Tearing the fabric from your eyes, ripping it from your mouth
    My breath shallow, my chest heaving painfully, my happiness immense...
    My love unending...

    Bitten... teeth sunk into my lips, teeth meshed with teeth,
    Tongue lashed with tongue
    As the shroud disintegrated and flames poured from your cranial cage
    To envelope the mortal reliquary of my decaying fiber
    And suck it into your body's tapestry...
    Dying inside your life,
    My happiness immense,
    My love unending...



Scenes Of The Earth

    I picked up the spade
    Dug up a few rows in the open field
    Then lay down upon the overturned warm and steaming earth
    Smelling the life inside dead rotten roots
    And freshly sown seeds
    And dreaming of you.
    No bug bothered me,
    I guess they were wary of this new giant bug species
    Competing with them on their livelihood
    Or maybe they were simply still asleep.

    A thin drizzle woke me up... seemed I had fallen asleep as well...
    To find an unidentified sassy bird trying to peck my nipples away,
    I was naked,
    Didn't even know it till now.
    I shooed the protesting bird off my chest
    And let the rain fill my eye sockets and my navel,
    Flowing off the rest of my body into the soft mud swallowing me.
    A moving shadow registered itself on my closed eyelashes
    And I felt fingers leaning on my shoulders,
    Toes leaning on my legs
    And heard the slurp of a mouth drinking the rain accumulated in my navel,
    Then the shadow registered again as I felt the softer sip of water from my eyes
    Allowing me to open them
    Just as the dripping ends of nipples started touching my chest.

    "What are you doing?" I asked you.
    "Something rated adults only..." you answered as we slipped into each other
    "...and you cannot write about it..." you continued
    Making an effort to cover every piece of my skin with a matching one of your own.
    "Now there is no more rain, I will enshroud you..."
    Wet hair strands falling around my head
    Guiding the intensifying rain to the mud underneath me.
    You lay your face upon mine
    Happy to nibble at my lower lip, and closed your eyes.
    I closed mine.
    "Why don't you dig your own hole?" I asked.
    "And leave your body prey to the touch of wanton raindrops and birds?
    I own your skin, I own your nipples and your lips,
    I own your eyes..."
    you said, sipping the rain again from my eyes
    And laying your head again upon my face.
    "So does death..." I contested.

    "I own your heart..." you added after a slight hesitation.
    One does not contest the uncontestable.




    Hand in hand.
    "What is this?"
    "A bird."
    "What is this?"
    "A star."
    "And this?"
    "A late summer's turbulent sunset playing cooing tunes of deep red."

    You were not satisfied,
    You waited for something from me and it wouldn't come
    And I did not know what it was.
    "This is wrong,
    This is completely wrong,
    You never lie.
    Why don't you lie to me?"

    I thought I had misunderstood you.
    "Why don't you lie to me?
    There is no such thing as not lying,
    Nobody tells the truth all the time
    And you do,
    So your lies are hidden.
    What are your lies?"
    you insisted
    Waiting, tense.
    I hesitated, tense myself,
    Knowing of my lie
    Knowing of what lies hidden deep inside
    Yet refusing to tell you... lest you misunderstood.

    I had no choice, I had to do it,
    It was the only possible answer.
    "I don't love you..." I said.

    You started, almost letting go of my hand.
    Then the late summer's turbulent sunset playing cooing tunes of deep red
    Seeped into your spreading smile
    And I closed my eyes as my teeth started bursting like popcorn
    Under the onslaught of leaping tongues of fire escaping your mouth.

    I winced as your fingers started tightening menacingly on my arm.
    "Your arm?..." your eyebrows shooting up in wonder
    Allowing a short reprieve for my teeth.
    "Sorry... guess I've turned into a pathological liar..." I wondered back...

    And the rest is... poetry as they say...
    (...and as I've already said in another poem... damn my stuttering muse...)



Hours God

    Forgotten lies the hours god inside my broken watch
    His scattered limbs dangling around the ugly shapeless blotch
    Among the rolling broken glass and wails of tortured springs
    As hammer's madness in my hand its one note thunder sings.


    Futile, he growls, your puny might will never meet my match
    The dying minutes of your life inside my pocket hatch...

    His voice abating from my mind aboard a parting train,
    A wisdom blindly I deny and strike, and strike again.


    Across from me an empty chair remembering your weight,
    A cup remembering your lips, your whispered "it is late..."
    Inside a crack a piece of thread remembering your skin
    Its nervous flutter curling, times, into a silly grin.


    A drying smear of blood adorns the paleness of my face,
    Along the tears branding my shirt fades lipstick's biting trace,
    The crumpled bed sheet howls despair as keepsakes of perfume
    Its bleached anemic bloodless heart with passions raw consume.


    I shove the rubble to the bin, my folly moment gone,
    Decaying flames throughout my veins inevitably spawn
    Obeying the unwritten laws of ever fading past
    Till charred remains of moments spent have crumbled to the last.


    I push my chair... a sudden flare disintegrates my shirt
    And senses trailing thoughts obscure my caving chest desert
    The stank of burning flesh invades my sanctum's inner reach
    And whiffs of... sandalwood?... escape my body's bleeding breach.


    "My love insane..." the velvet pours from jars alight with smiles,
    "My lover dear away from me a thousand distant isles,
    The hours god may choose the day your flesh and soul will part,
    The hours god will never curb the fire in my heart."





    You watch me intently
    As I experiment,
    Knees drawn to your chin
    Hugged by hands
    A classical picture of an impudent lover
    Tridimensionally painted on my bed,
    Painted or cast? Maybe born there?
    I try to remember... seems there is nothing to remember,
    Life started at a certain moment,
    Painted or cast or born doesn't matter
    And try as I may it seems there was nothing before.
    Will there be something after?
    Probably not.

    I shake away my moods
    Seeing the mockery in your half smile... could it actually be flattery?...
    As I pick up your lady shave
    And start cutting narrow traces in the foam warring with my stubble.
    I hate this blade,
    How many miles of skin did it share intimately with you?
    I try to incrust its sensations into my flesh
    Stealing the intimacies it shared with you
    Into the few miserable yards it will plough through my skin.
    Will I share the same intimacies?
    Did we?
    Will we?
    Maybe more?
    Maybe I will fare better and not end on the garbage pile
    Once my useful sharp days are over, the dullness of rust setting in
    And my teeth reached beyond cutting one thousand paths
    Against the stiff resistance of bristling sons of hair?
    Will there be a thousand-and-one'th path?

    I rinse away the lather carefully cleaning the steel
    And watch you in the mirror
    As I pick up your tooth brush,
    Your mocking smile curving further into a mocking grin,
    And I wonder for a moment
    Does a mouse enjoy the excitement of being watched by a raptorial bird
    Just about to pounce?

    I inspect the short nylon bristles,
    The hungry garbage scavengers
    Sharing with me your mouth,
    Little dirty minded bastards
    Penetrating nooks and corners of your teeth and mouth
    I don't ever stand a chance of reaching...
    ...and fantasy thoughts of finding a blacksmith to sharpen my tongue
    linger temptingly on my mind
    fading almost immediately under the imperial barrage
    of other tongue related fantasies...

    I pour a mountain of tooth paste on the insolent brush
    Drowning its vaingloriously snubbing fingers in mint flavored death
    And take my sweet revenge by guiding it to the same pits and caverns
    Explored in your mouth.
    Sharing by intermediary,
    Poor man's sharing... am I that poor if to judge by the green onslaught
    of those eyes reflecting into mine from the mirror?...

    Another rinsing cycle,
    I feel almost like a dishwasher as I place the clean brush back in the glass...
    What else is to share?...

    Your panties hang on a hook nearby,
    Lonesome, winking, tempting...
    "No!... that you don't..."
    Your blooming grin turning into shrieking laughter
    As you jump off the bed and tear them from my groping fingers
    And throw me on the bouncing mattress
    Making my chest your squatting quarters.
    My problem is not the air I don't get into my lungs,
    My problem is the fragrance getting into my nostrils...
    I try to squeak as I cannot speak...
    "I want to share with you... everything..."
    "I know of a better way to share that..." you answer
    As your lower body half starts its smooth slide
    Down my chest, down my belly, down...
    And your upper body half starts its smooth slide
    Up my chest, up my neck, up...
    I knew of ice melting into water,
    I knew of sugar melting into coffee,
    I never knew of flesh melting into flesh...
    Well, I always sucked at chemistry.

    "Is melting a kind of sharing?" I ask you.
    "Melting is a kind of giving..." you answer, "...everything..."


    The door handle, I don't want to share it with you.
    Your fingerprints having indented such rich embroidery
    of circles and curves and spirals on its smooth surface
    Doomed to disappear forever once I cover it with my touch
    And share a parting goodbye
    Leading into the world of unshared shaving blades
    And unshared tooth brushes,
    And unshared... everything's...
    I close my eyes.
    I hear a door clicking.
    Did it click in front of me or in back of me?
    I wonder. I fear. I know what I want.
    I guess I will keep my eyes closed till...
    "Melting is a kind of giving... everything..." I hear...



Camera Obscura

    I was so cocksure of myself
    I did not hesitate,
    "Yes, everything is possible," I said,
    "Try me,
    Through fact or fascination
    I'll prove it.
    Everything is possible."
    I knew my maths, I knew my philosophy.
    I knew my technology.
    I knew when I was right.

    You looked at me unemotionally,
    Thoughtful, not even tense.
    You knew I was wrong.
    You sang.

    How many unformed tears are there in the bodiless mist of cloud?
    Dreams of grandeur buried in uncountable liquid hearts
    Stretching invisible tiny hands into a desperate companionship hug
    Till the billions of perfectly ball-like shaped miniature oceans
    Locked in their delicate transparent tension skins
    Finally gather the courage and skill to let go of thunder crumbs
    Cascading into the deafening roar of an electric whip
    As they start rolling along thin immature gravitational strings
    Towards yawning death
    Where their fragile bodies' bellies squash obscenely
    Against the maturity of obscure earth
    A sloshing areola extending from the point of impact outwards
    While the rapidly deceasing transparent nipple tries just once more to fly upwards
    Breaking into a perfectly round crown of spikes like a misunderstood Icarus
    And then falling one more and final time
    Losing all that primeval ephemeral beauty
    Into the depths of some opprobrious gutter...

    Rain drops,
    They could never turn back into the mists of cloud..."

    Waiting for my answer,
    Knowing I had none.
    I... smugly, knowing I had all.

    There were millions of buttons.
    I pushed a green button,
    A screen unfolded covering a full wall with a silvery stain.
    Then pushed a blue button with pink stars.
    Fast moving action reversed itself on the screen,
    A rivulet crawling up from the gutter
    Metamorphosing into a spikes-bordered round crown
    Collecting itself back into a squashed belly ball
    Gathering height and perfection of shape as it rushed upwards
    Towards the clouds
    Where it disintegrated into the mists of clouds whence it was born...
    I pushed a square button and the screen blanked out with a click.
    "See? Possible!" my triumphant voice.
    "This is cheating..." your weak voice, not so certain anymore...

    You looked at me, emotion gathering in your regard,
    Still thoughtful, a little tense.
    You hoped I was wrong.
    You sang.

    The only god we can't deny its exclusive dominance
    And won't worship its singularly tangible existence,
    Its falsetto mundane allure of grand dame
    Viciously flashing saber canines at leisure
    As it dangles by eons long fingernails from the overstretched fibers of time
    Carefully bestowing unalienated love on all humans and else
    In its undiscriminating perfectly equalitarian system
    Winking left and right and flashing curly eyelashes
    While bony hands test resilience of flesh and breath
    Mocking dreams of immortality and prayers to gods senile or inexistent
    Or inept in dealing with its ever growing appetite and perfect lucidity
    In choosing the least expecting partner to its dance orgies
    When after a few overdone passo-doble steps it is carrying its beautiful conquest
    Ingurgitating its step and laughter and song
    To a kingdom ruled by the single traffic law of one way streets...

    Stole your mother away to its never return garden of silence..."

    Waiting for my answer,
    Hoping I have none.
    I... smugly, knowing I have all.

    The green button was still pushed in,
    The screen still unfolded.
    I pushed a grey button with diagonal brown stripes.
    Moments of life as she carried my screaming bundle back home,
    When she fought for the last cherries in the peasant's basket
    And slapped the establishment in the name of respect for me,
    Singing to me,
    Then being the wise voice in my life
    When the world ended and she mended it back for me,
    Letting me go yet always at call's distance,
    Soft, tender, soft, tender, warm,
    Laughing, so many scenes of her laughing.
    I pushed the square button again and the screen blanked out with a click.
    "See? Possible!" my triumphant voice, removing the dust speck from my eye.
    "This is cheating..." your voice almost inaudible, uncertainty setting in...

    You looked at me, emotion painting your cheeks scarlet,
    Deep in thought, tense.
    You did not know, you did not hope.
    You sang.

    You opened the door to the furnace
    And words started flowing out rolling and tumbling
    Like freshly ignited lava stones pouring out the volcano's insolent mouth
    Resistance superfluous
    All hesitation crumbling to smithereens
    With ensuing annihilation of any self will reminiscences
    And thousands pages classical tomes turning spatter fodder to passion's rage
    Under the onslaught of curved snaky traces leaving
    Constantly whipping paths of flaming ink across the desert of my landscapes
    Mounting through unheard of passages from the soles of my feet
    Long the scorched pathways of my skin and empty abysses of my veins
    The inner crackling marrow channels
    Lighting the coal mine in my heart
    Up into the blister of wounded lips
    Through the green sizzle of evaporating eyes
    Finally turning me into a torch
    Immolating me into an eternal blaze of candor and happiness...

    Is it thus possible for your love to decay
    Into the disgrace of unsmoldering ruins!?..."

    Whispered. Waiting for my answer. Was it a statement or a question?
    Not knowing? Not hoping?
    I... all signs of smugness gone, knowing that...

    I touched the square button of the machine.
    "What are you doing?"
    "I am packing the machine. We know the answer."
    You pushed me gently aside, eyeing the millions of blinking buttons
    Then lifted your hand... I took hold of your finger...
    "You don't know the machine."
    "I know your heart."
    "Do you trust my heart?"
    "I trust your machine."
    "They are the same."
    "I know."
    "This is cheating..." I heard myself begging.
    You smiled, finding a green button dotted red
    And looking straight at me as your finger plunged it in.

    The screen went wild.
    Thousands and thousands of miles of a messy unidentifiable squiggle
    Finely tuned like an Italian spaghetti dish gone crazy
    With the impatience of getting chewed swallowed ingested
    Here and there a barely guessable 'a'... or a combination 'swe'...
    Or maybe 'she'... with the odd rarity of the complete word 'skin' or 'time'
    Hardly discernible inside the filigree of tangled twisted enmeshed traces
    Spreading in all directions, mounting each other in random loops
    Ever trying to follow a pattern and never really succeeding
    Except for the intermittent splutters of raining fire filled blobs
    Turning the whole vista into a blooming garden with the only exploding buds
    Being those of fire, fire, fire...
    How did the pen find its way starting at the last discernible words those being...
    ...the last discernible words those being...
    And trail and trace the pattern backwards ingurgitating the symbols
    Letters words whole tracks and endless fields of fire blooms
    Leaving behind a growing virginal whiteness of white white white?...

    You shuddered, frightened all of a sudden,
    Gripping my hand and cuddling into me,
    Your button finger never leaving its pressure for a moment
    Hoping for the impossible fearing the inevitable
    As hours after hours after hours the pen kept roaming, absorbing,
    Imbibing, cleansing to immaculate perfection the endless reaching field
    Which just hours ago flowered with all your life's aspirations and hopes
    And dreams...
    No, the miracle was not going to happen as the last few words...
    The first ever written
    Ended their life in the pen's insatiable entrails
    And the white was blinding...

    You wanted to shear your hand from mine...
    I refused,
    I knew... did I?...
    I waited...
    We waited...
    As your naked figure slowly started materializing from the white of the silver
    till all blushing colors poured into your cheeks
    And the pen started its new journey at your toenails
    Pouring its blue and black and fire contents onto your skin in ever faster leaps
    Working its way upwards and backwards
    Regurgitating all of its inhaled patterns thinly spaced and narrowly patterned
    Round your body's mountains and valleys and unfrozen lakes
    To the end of your hair strands... the last sputtered words being...
    "...the last sputtered words being..."

    Your body hardly visible under the miles of ink thread
    Its whiteness slowly emerging as the ink started absorbing into your skin,
    Fading away
    Conquering your insides...
    I felt you stiffening at my side, your hand no longer trying to escape,
    Your chest inflating and taking one deep breath
    As your body assimilated the sweet poison of tons of ink
    And your eyes cleared from the clutter of the densely engraved verses.

    "You were wrong."
    "I was wrong."
    "Your machine was right."
    "My machine was right."
    "Your machine is your heart."
    "My machine is my heart."
    "Everything is possible..."
    "Everything is possible..."
    "Except one..."
    "Except one..."
    "You can never stop loving me."
    I was going to answer...
    I could not as your finger laid itself on my mouth
    And your ear against my chest.
    Finally you removed your finger, lifted your head
    And looked at me strangely.
    "Why did you do that?" I asked.
    "Your mouth is a mindful guided echo. Hearsay.
    I wanted to listen to the mindless source."

    I've never been that tense in my life.
    "And what did you hear there
    Except for the churn of guts and the whiz of lungs and the beat of heart?"
    "And the twine of flutes and the lace of larks and the wreathe of rhymes?..."
    Your eyes green, green, green...
    "I can never stop loving you."




    I see you are a writer.
    No, I am not.
    Are you a story teller?
    No, neither.
    A poet?
    No, sorry, what a disturbing idea...

    I merely paint,
    Calligraphic visions at the intersections of mundanity
    With dreams
    Changing the vigorously boring into ephemerally enchanting.
    Sometimes I sculpt,
    Molding the geometrically perfect rigidity of shapes assailing your sight
    Into flowing amorphism
    Tanged with out-seasonal bottled flavors of oranges in bloom.
    Yes, I may also sing at times,
    Trying to fit the randomness of syllables' sounds and counts
    Upon a twenty one lines stave
    Barely able to hold the waking forest's trills of sunlight worshiping birds...

    So what would you call yourself, an artist?
    Oh, no, I have no such pretensions.
    I am a lover.
    Lover? Sounds so crude...
    Then let me please re-phrase it...
    I am in love.




    Chance Encounter

    Meet me on the next street of my life
    As if by chance
    Ask me when and where and I will tell you
    Then be there
    And we will both act surprised and ask
    How are you
    As if we didn't see each other for long years
    Or never kissed
    Or never lived together for the rest of our lives
    Which we didn't.

    Experimental Life

    Let me act old fashioned and open the door for you
    To my private theater
    Playing on each segment of its rolling stage
    A movie scene
    Never the same movie never the same scene
    As it keeps rolling
    And you sit in the front row clapping hands happily
    Wondering aloud
    Whose life has it never been so beautiful
    And I answer ours.


    I will take you to the ocean and spill one cup of transparent tincture
    Into its depths
    In exchange for all of its sparkling turquoise
    Which I will sip
    Till drops of color will overflow from your eyes
    Into open cuts
    On my skin inhaling your caressing songs of allegiance
    Closing a past
    Unknowledgeable yet of the inception of
    Our genesis.




    When, where did it start?
    Up on the mountain?

    Rain pebbles seeping through rock hollows turning brooks
    Asking permission before escaping to the surface
    Where they start sliding down,
    Then rolling
    As clear mountain tears playing hide and seek
    With dry leaves and runaway worms
    Inside tiny grooves
    Under gruesome reaching roots
    Gathering power, knowledge,
    Turning rivulets,
    Shoving stones down hidden paths, the din growing,
    Thirsty fawns touching its surface with scared muzzles
    As floating bark scratches their skin carrying tiny blood drops away,
    The rivulet turning river,
    A water avalanche thundering its way down
    Dragging along trees, boulders,
    Ripping half a mountainside away
    In an undeclared war of supremacy
    Leaving scars as deep as its scraggly bed
    Its waters now turbid
    Mud and death and putrefaction riding along
    And threatening to take away its once power, its once beauty,
    Its once lust for life...

    Looking back at a long journey,
    Its slush loaded body now heavy, sluggish,
    Death approaching painfully,
    It can smell it... the smell of sea, and fishes, and decrepit banks,
    The final resting place
    And the only tombstone to its head
    The restless chant of breaking waves.

    It hesitates,
    A few more miles to go,
    Holding back,

    And then... a colored marble falls down from the sky.

    And as the eternal powers of gravitation start dragging it down
    Slowly sinking it to the bottom,
    The tiny frozen kingdom at its heart melts away
    And bright furious colors gaily stumble out of the cryogenic prison
    Building a highway towards the river's cluttered veins
    Flowing inside
    Flooding it
    Carrying along scents forgotten up the mountain
    And warmth stolen by never returning summers
    And trills dead with last year's nightingales
    And the waters clear
    And butterflies dive to the bottom aching for the flowers' nectar
    Sweetening its depths
    And once again
    Just for the last of the long miles
    The river's chest swells with tidal pride
    The flowing crystal might crushes the last of the rocks
    Its thunder unleashes its beautiful melodious bellow one more time, and last,
    As it waits for the final embrace of the whales' eternal song...



Open Up Your Fingers Lover

    Open up your fingers lover, let the morning dew assail
    Evening indecisions shrouded sleeping doubt's nocturnal veil,
    Tiny beads of chilling moisture sowing paths of trailing sheen
    Clustering like vineyard bunches spawning pearls soft of skin
    Lock inside neglected sun-drops praying eastward for the grin
    Bound to rip them into glimmers fading way through mists unseen.

    Open up your fingers lover, let reflecting sunlight glare
    Blind the immolating fury of the fire's trailing mare,
    Turn your hand and guide it gently to its ocean's chilly nest
    Past the crest of Zenith's mountain sloping down to silent west
    And as purple tinted fountains cool its waning trotting zest
    Let the rim of dawning starlight show the way to dreamless rest.

    Open up your fingers lover, let the warmth invade your flesh
    Trapping it inside the prison of your bone and tendon mesh,
    Guard it while descending slumber undefeated slithers by
    Painting thoughts into oblivion as its sleight beguiles your eye
    And the endless fairy kingdoms cluttering the falling sky
    Try to steal the lonely glimmer finding shelter in your sigh.

    Open up your fingers lover, lay your palm upon my chest
    Asking not undue permission for this binding final test,
    See sunflower fields engorge me in the wake of lover's spell
    Whiffs of me forever clinging to the velvet green of shell
    As you rise to light the morning, as you set the night to tell,
    I will turn my head to follow... if through heaven, if through hell...




    Take my book off the shelf.
    All the poems I ever wrote for you
    They are there.

    Blow the dust away,
    Don't be afraid, the letters will not fall off.
    I promised you colorful eternity,
    It is there, in the colorless words.

    Open the first page,
    No... not the contents page, you joker...
    The first poem.
    You gasp in surprise, I know, sorry.
    Didn't mean to frighten you
    That's why I told you of the moths of time. Remember?

    Yes, on the first page all the I's are eaten out of the page,
    Don't try to get it lab analyzed,
    They will tell you 'moths' and they will be right.
    They will think you crazy,
    It is not you, it was I.
    Turn the page over... there's another surprise surprise...
    All the love's are eaten out.
    Not many of them, just two, but that's enough.
    You know what awaits you on the next page of course... you...
    Twenty three of them, nicely chewed away
    By those almost invisible paper artisans chewing their way through
    Blindly, determinedly, unknowing of the guiding hand,
    Yes, on this side we can do some astounding things,
    I could never tell you how much, I can now...

    You cry?... why?... this is beautiful...
    Go to the next page, sorry it did not work so good there,
    I did not know I would do it when I wrote it,
    All you will find here is scattered letters... e's and g's... one r...
    Sorry, there is no word there, and even one letter missing,
    Sorry, but I tried to say green...

    I tried to say I love you green...

    Sit on my lap,
    No, you won't feel me but I will,
    Sit on the deep armchair there in the corner of the attic,
    Mind not the dust, much of it is what is left of me,
    Just sit there and start reading
    Page after page after page.
    Mind not the letters you touch sticking to your fingers and disappearing
    Absorbed underneath the skin,
    Another trick I learned over here
    Proving the eternity I promised is the eternity I give,
    All you have to do is wish it in and it is yours.
    Choose your letters
    Choose your words
    And let your dreams be known to me,
    And as you read my gone realities... do you feel my fingers caressing your hair?
    You do not, I know, yet you sit in the armchair
    Minding not the dust
    Touching a strand of hair which mischievously seems to fall out of place
    Defying the absolute lack of draft
    As if caressed by fingers,
    And you start turning on the pages.
    Wondering at the low quality of the moth eaten paper
    As words rub into your fingertips and seem to fade out of the pages,
    Words like... forever...




    Making inroads into my sun,
    The color of thoughts
    Like the broken spikes of a wheel
    Cutting it into uneven pizza slices
    The dark gaps in between
    Flooded with the ramble of question marks
    Each attached to its preceding question.

    And then... the frizzle of an unkempt moon eclipses the view
    And I hear the pizza slices sliding and locking back in place
    And sizzling question marks dragging their meaningless load into naught
    And the color of thoughts turning shyly scarlet
    At promises escaping the prison of that smiling red, red mouth...

    Wish that the sight of those writhing coiling uncoiling fires snakes
    Would turn me to stone
    Thus escaping the agony of disemboweling pain.
    The gates to hell open in the moon reclining above me
    And the red mouth whispers in my ear
    "Is it really your wish?..."

    And as I slowly slide into the green flames
    There is only one certainty left inside my mind...
    ...agony... so beautiful...




    The insolent chirrup of birds
    Insulting my silence
    With arias stolen from an opera
    Verdi is never going to compose,
    Millions of chrysalides bursting in one single breath
    Into a cloud devastating in its multicolored beauty
    Undulating like a ship's sail prey to hurricane's fury
    Mocking my grey
    On a canvas stolen from Dali
    Dead before ever being incepted,
    Blown thrown flown sown
    Humming like high voltage electrical wires
    Crossing my way
    Clasping my torso
    Villainously jeering at my solitude
    With dreams stolen from Morpheus' secret chest
    When the world still believed in Morpheus and in dreams...

    Huddled on my bare bed,
    The windowpane implodes
    Slicing inwards-opening gashes in my flesh
    The shards melting away
    When a green shepherd's biting whip starts herding my way
    Chirrups and colors and kisses
    Flooding through my window
    Invading my privacy
    Tearing to shreds my silence my grey my solitude
    As they sink into the bleeding mouths
    Hunting for my heart
    Caring for my wounds
    Cleaning healing sealing...

    A green voice guides the last of the irrupting horde in,
    Sews the last of my gashes,
    Plasters over the few disobedient spots with breast milk
    And covers my body with sleeping butterflies' filigree
    Smoothly sliding underneath it... next to me.
    Green warmth seeps into my skin
    My heart finally hunted down
    Bats hanging upside down from the ceiling chewing petal shreds all over us...
    "How did you do it?"
    I ask her as she stirs next to me,
    Her hand guiding my fingers to a stiffening nipple.
    "How did I do what?"
    Asks a sleepy voice,
    Her mouth smelling of yesterday's food and screams and love making.
    "That..." I insist, mindlessly caressing the spot I was guided to.
    "I don't know what you're talking about," she mumbles,
    "All I did was say... good morning...
    I love you...



Momentary Space

    Not hesitatingly,
    I open the door,
    Cross the threshold carrying with me
    A tooth brush... "...no need, use mine..."
    A razor... "...no need, use mine..."
    Some clothes... "...no need..."
    Sit down on the only chair
    And wait.

    You explode into the momentary space
    Whirling eddies of your passage lifting
    Garbage cans, skirts, and old Cadillac's skyward
    And before anyone can identify the disturbance source
    The gate to the world closes
    And you cut into my lips to the dying sounds of
    Falling cans and squeamish women and crashing down old Cadillac's.

    There is nothing soft in this wilderness
    Except for your hair and your eyes and your lips and your breasts
    And your belly and your skin
    And your moans and your screams and your songs
    And the bits of flesh adorning the poetry lines clawed into my back
    By nails now purring happily back into their recesses
    As you sleepily lick my wounds clean.

    I am so afraid to wake you up...
    I wake you up.
    The mascara rivers dried up long time ago,
    My wound unhealed,
    Putrefying pieces of skin underneath your fingernails.
    You lick my lips
    "You are wrong," you say enigmatically,
    "Momentary eternity..."
    As you slowly open the door
    And exit my momentary space.
    No sounds of garbage cans, squeamish women, falling Cadillac's.
    Just a thin scream I identify as my own
    As I look into the mirror and see that gaping hole on my face
    Which is my widely opened mouth.



Incursions Into Pain

    I looked at the clump of pain
    Shapelessly crumpled in its virtual corner,
    Too afraid to get close to it
    Much in need to touch it.
    The shimmering haze around it
    Witness to the terrible holocaust inside,
    What was it made of?
    Melting clay?

    I poked at it gently with my finger
    Then ran away
    Scared to have interrupted its meditation
    As it lay there coiled around the walls of hell.
    The clump of clay moved,
    Uncoiled, unfurled, unfolded,
    I gasped in angst as under the mass of writhing agony
    I distinguished a shape reminding me of... woman?

    "Is there a woman inside that clay?"
    I asked,
    The shiver in my voice telling of the clash
    Between the urge to join and the urge to run and hide.
    Flaming branches, probably fingers,
    Started unbuttoning invisible hooks and latches
    The lapels of a coat opened
    And I saw her.
    Yes, she was woman.
    Oh, merciless angels of doomed heavens,
    Her raw flesh so vulnerably tender
    Her skin lining the insides of the clay
    Clinging to it with tiny claws,

    "Why, why did you choose the fire of this clay coat?" I asked her,
    Death imminent, pain imminent.
    "I did not choose it, it chose me,
    It is my humanity, my frailty, my pain,
    It is my beauty."

    I did not hear the full sentence, just one word.
    "Pain," I screamed, "you chose pain,
    You could have chosen eternity,
    You chose humanity, pain..."
    "Pain is but a metaphor to love,
    It is bearable... when shared..."

    She answered.

    I did not hesitate,
    Why was I actually asking all these stupid questions
    When the answers were so clear?...
    "Can I share your humanity, your frailty, your pain?
    Can I share your beauty?"
    "And my love?"
    "And your love."
    "I did not tell you about sadness."
    She handed me a marble.
    "It’s a clay marble..." I wondered aloud.
    "Yes," she said, placing it in my hand.
    "It was us, it could have been us, it will never be us."

    I never heard howling such as that before,
    My voice cords stretching outside of my mouth
    As my eyes closed
    And my neck stretched thread thin
    And my fingers squashed the tiny marble into a nothingness
    oozing from between my fingers.
    She held the coat's lapels open
    As I encircled her waist with my arms
    And tasted her blood
    And then she closed her skin around me
    Protecting me from the raging fires of clay.
    I wanted to say something profound.
    "I love you," I said.

    She did not say a thing.
    I did not guess. There was no need
    As she smiled us to sleep
    Humming lullabies.


    I could not see it
    Hidden as I was in my protective haven,
    Many, many years later I was told
    That nobody has yet seen such a beautiful daisy
    Sprouting out of a shapeless burning piece of molten clay...




    In a world
    Laid barren of its metaphors
    where eyes are not mirrors reflecting dreams of long forgotten deities
    and lips are not gates to everlasting damnation of passionate hell
    and cheeks are not rosebush petals glinting in late morning's sizzling dew

    Will there still be love?
    I asked you.

    You did not smile.
    You chose carefully your answer.

    In a face
    Laid barren of its vanity
    And forced to face the world
    With eyelashes bare of mascara
    Riding the long way down to their restless lair
    Then up again to their position of childish wonder,
    Lips bare of the miracle of glossy paints
    In wait for alien flesh to crush their curved shape into flat pain
    Upon the cutting edge of bloodthirsty teeth,
    Cheeks bare of rouge bare of the powdered masquerade
    Hiding pallor
    And tiny veins vehiculating under the transparent skin colorless loads,
    In a face
    Laid barren of its vanity,
    Will there still be beauty?

    In a world
    Laid barren of its metaphors
    where breasts are not ivory towers tipped by the light of a dying sun
    and hips are not subtle necks asking for the caress of lips gone astray
    and legs are not the flame-carrying messengers guiding to luscious valleys

    Will you still love me?
    I asked you.

    You did not smile.
    You chose carefully your answer.

    In a body
    Laid barren of its youth
    And forced to live reality
    With breasts bare of lace
    The weight of nipples chewed raw by tiny hungry mouths
    Dragging the flesh down towards an insisting navel,
    Hips bare of the hug of silk
    Exposing a waistline thickened by bearing life
    And pale stretching lines decorating the flesh of an uncontrollable belly,
    Legs bare of the camouflaging nylon
    Short sharp hairs pushing persistently against a razor's edge
    Upon worn out thighs and swollen ankles,
    In a body
    Laid barren of its youth
    Will you still ache for me?

    There will, I said,
    I will, I said.

    You smiled,
    You chose carefully your answer.

    There will, you said,
    I will, you said.

    Why did you smile? I asked you.

    You chose carefully your answer.
    Because you did not choose carefully your answer, you said.
    There will, you said.
    You will, you said.



Philosophies Of Love, Two

    I have this damn deficiency of repeating myself,
    Well, there are only so many ways...
    "Dreams will stay dreams," I said.
    "And miles will stay miles."
    "And lovers?" you asked,
    The process of chewing my ear incomplete.
    There was some worry in your voice,
    You knew the queerdom of my mind.
    "Yes, I have to be unique in some way, no?
    You know, there are so many kingdom owners out there,
    And so many partners to stardom.
    I like to be unique.
    So I invented and now own queerdom.
    "Because it does not exist."
    "As good a reason as any," I answered nonchalantly,
    Refusing to abandon my illusion.
    Hoping you had forgotten meanwhile your earlier question.
    "And lovers?" you repeated stubbornly, sticking a needle in my balloon.

    Well, procrastinating is a pompous word which doesn't always work.
    Not the word, the procrastination.
    I was kind of intimately attached to my earlobe
    And I was too young to lose it...
    "Lovers?" I asked, buying time and applying for pity.
    You did not repeat as I hoped you will,
    Your teeth firmly hooked into your prey,
    I could not lie.
    "Lovers will always part," I said,
    Steeling myself to excruciating pain.
    You kicked my shin
    Which did not hurt too much with your bare foot
    And I heard my earlobe breathing in relief
    As your lips replaced your teeth suckling it raw.
    Your hand started a crusade on the inner surface of my clothes...

    Later, much much later...
    Oh, no, not what you think, you dirty minded peepers,
    I mean like years later...

    You might have said nothing has changed,
    Nothing of significance at least.
    A few more pounds to my waist,
    A few more wrinkles to your eyes.
    A few less years to both of us.
    Yes, of course, we changed a few rounds of underwear meanwhile as well,
    You insisted...
    Except for that it was exactly the same,
    The same time of day,
    The same position almost to the millimeter,
    The same earlobe, still intact, in your mouth.
    "I am still alive," I mused aloud.
    "I know..." you said, or rather made noises which sounded like I know.
    "How come?" I insisted
    Refusing your offer to shut me up with cheap sex.
    "Why didn't you bite off my ear?"
    "Because you were right."
    I was facing again this impenetrable wall of female illogicdom...
    "...illogicdom... wow..." a giggle...
    ...and those teeth in my earlobe driving me nuts...
    "But we were lovers..." I would have shouted in frustration
    If your finger would not have found its way into my mouth.
    "...buf we wefe wofefs..." I lisped it out though.
    I had my own stubborn streak.
    Your teeth and lips and tongue let go of my ear,
    Which could have been a good sign or a bad sign.
    You propped your head on pudgy elbows drilling mines between my ribs
    And burst my eardrums with a whisper cutting right through my eyes...
    "We are lovers..."
    Unmistakably emphasizing the second word of the creed.

    There was a philosophy there, I knew, I sensed,
    I felt it but had no time to delve into it
    As you mumbled an unintelligible sequel, something like...
    "...and you should be thankful I am helping you prove the rule..."
    ...and those liberated teeth and lips and tongues (yeap...)
    Rampaged on a renewed crusade of a kind I remembered only too well.

    ...thankful... and cheap sex... and...
    I won't go into details.



Dreams Catcher

    just close your eye, then close your mind,
    then close your reaching hand,
    then let your muscles' strain unwind
    and slide to soothing sand,
    the grains adhering to your skin
    are forest's gentle plea
    if there is pain, if there is sin,
    to share your own with me.

    regard the spider's woven net
    between my fingers' bones
    remember when we first time met
    we shied from loving moans,
    the net has turned to silken trap
    my dreams to catch and hold
    your touch, your kiss with vows to wrap,
    inside my heart to mold.

    do never wake from my embrace
    as life keeps rolling by
    remember just the touch of lace...
    your lover's lullaby,
    and when you doubt your fate's design
    your fingers twine with mine
    and let those dreams spill ever's wine
    into a sigh divine...




    I sat in the rocking chair
    Watching the end of the world,
    Swaying back and forth, back and forth,
    The wailing song of the squeaking old wood
    Accompanying the huge incandescent blood blob
    As it soaked deeper and deeper into the ends of earth,
    Its bottom side splashing grotesquely around the mountain peak
    Puncturing its insides and finally gloriously ripping through its top
    In a splendor of descending darkness and shimmering afterlights.
    The last of the bleeding stains crawling slowly down to their death.
    The last sunset.

    I kept swaying,
    Was I still in the chair?
    Watching the other side of the sky
    When I saw time later the big black gaping hole
    Slowly rising from invisible morning's mists
    The perfectly round shape visible only against the eternity of the stars curtain.
    The sun had died out into an apocalypse of ashes,
    And the screaming death of solar winds.

    And the cactus thorn's dew grew stone
    And lakes grew marshes
    And fright burned in dying alligators' eyes
    So many millions of years old.
    The squeaking stopped.
    I died.


    Many years away.
    You woke up,
    The nightmare still fresh on your mind,
    Memories hidden, frozen,
    Parched in the sun to molecular dust and blown across the Grand Canyon
    Suddenly ganging upon you
    Crawling, flowing, flooding,
    Cutting through your skin and looking for your heart,
    There is no scream left in your throat
    As you roll to my side of the bed
    Your fingers searching in vain textures of skin
    Across the smooth cool bareness
    Of immaculately white sheets...


    "Lover sweet beyond the valley
    Carved by eons' crawling galley
    Far from eye's eternal quest
    Out the reach of craving breast
    And unrest...

    Times unending did I falter
    Fore my life's exacting altar
    Hind of me the glinting trail
    Flowing out my brimming pail
    Going stale...

    Countless moments bit my yearning
    Bleeding paths through body burning
    Reaching out for love away
    As my mind to madness pray
    Ran astray...

    Endless nights my dying thunder
    Lay awake in painful wonder
    Lust demented in my loins
    As forgotten screaming groins
    Fire joins...

    Lover sweet beyond my reaching
    Wanting words in verses preaching
    Look my way though you don't see
    The unspoken raving plea
    Burning me..."


    In my lonesome praying hours time I look for gods forlorn
    Tracing pearls green of kernel mid of tumid rotting corn
    Mystic archers pierce my body in an aimless ancient game
    Betting virgins' ageless beauty for a crumb of passing fame
    Heedless of the void emerging from the arid vacant eyes
    Digging pools of utter darkness in the dregs of scuttling skies.

    Flutter noise I hear beguiling mind's evading reason pith
    Wishful wings my cheeks caressing as my lips in anger writhe
    Sights unseen beneath my eyelids filling up the blank abyss
    Sounds unheard against my rib cage rending silence gone amiss
    Where's this uninvited cuddle coming from against my hip
    As the whispers out of nowhere scraps of skin begin to strip?

    Is it voice or music howling living runes into my skull
    Changing into fever's dwelling the abysmal reigning lull
    Shredding cloth to burning fiber climbing wild upon my bone
    Drilling deep inside my marrow the insistent trilling tone...
    "Wake to light or damn your duty watch to be upon my life
    In my ever green tomorrow right to have to call me wife..."


    I don't believe it,
    I can't explain it,
    I didn't see it.
    The flame leaped out of nowhere
    Incinerating my chair, my heart,
    And as I was falling to the floor
    Amid a fountain of igniting dust and spewing sparks
    I saw the flame leaping on into the dark hole crawling along the sky
    And a rolling red wave started boiling its way from the center to the outer edges
    Its swirls biting into the black nothingness of ashes
    And hydrogen
    And escaping snakes of fire coiled their muscled hell
    round and round and round the gaping hole
    Till blindness ensued
    And solar wind burnt my eyelashes
    Forcing me to cower under the cover of my raised arm
    Screaming in the pain of being born.

    And the stone turned dew
    And marshes crystal
    And pride shone its fire depth of alligators' eyes.
    And I lived.



Morphing Time

    The seconds ripen into sighs upon your whisper's bough
    As yellow stains of might-have-been's across my garden plow,
    A bunch of sighs turns minutes rot before it peels and dies
    And hours strew the crumbling bark through fields of when's and why's.

    Reverberating vowels bounce along deserted halls
    Inside the caverns of my mind a broken echo stalls,
    I reach towards departing suns invoking rambling fears
    The hours turn to days, the days to nights, the nights to tears.

    Upon the cradle sleeps a dream inside the wires bed
    Remembering forever lost the vows of days we wed
    When tears turn years and soon a life will take its final bow
    Yet mouth to ear we'll carry on the never end of now...


    A sudden scream rips off the gloom and cuts into my heart
    A fist takes hold of screeching veins and pulls my chest apart
    "It's not of yours, it's not of mine, this love will set off sail
    And mouth to mouth and hand in hand we'll take forever's trail."



Never Thought Of

    Close your eyes,
    Close them, tight, don't cheat,
    Please, close them,
    Now feel...
    Do you?...

    No, it is not the evening breeze,
    Told you not to cheat,
    It is my fingers
    Picking up single hairs in clumps of three
    And braiding each patiently, lovingly,
    Carefully tying thin colored ribbons at each end
    Some silk, some satin,
    Some silvery paper with pictures of yellow crescents,
    Moving on to your eyebrows, so difficult,
    Then to your eyelashes as you make an effort to keep them steady...
    Tens, then hundreds, and when I reach tens of thousands
    You run a comb through your hair
    And the braids come undone
    And ribbons start falling down to the floor
    In a colorful rain of sparkling rolling fluttering wings
    With no bodies attached to their ends
    And no clouds attached to their rainbow...
    Why do I do it? I don't know, never thought of it,
    Maybe because I love you?...

    I know your fingerprints,
    No, I do not try to tickle you,
    I picked up a long thin pencil, red,
    And drew a line all along the insides of one barely visible valley,
    Painstakingly accurate,
    My art nothing less than painstakingly accurate for you
    Though at times the thin end would puncture your skin
    And I would bend down hastily to suck the drop of blood.
    I take then a yellow pencil and I paint the line next to the first,
    Then a blue one, then green, then violet
    And when I finish all the pencils in my box I start again,
    And again,
    Till your fingertips are works of art and I am a mad artist
    Famous for the few moments till you wash them away
    And rainbows flow down the sink...
    Why do I do it? I don't know, never thought of it,
    Maybe because I love you?...

    Wait, no, this is not silence,
    These are words I think straight into your ears,
    It is not easy to have you hear my thoughts
    Yet you can,
    I gave you the keys,
    I gave you the tunes, the mix of instruments
    Some old, some new, some never invented
    I had to bribe some birds to help me, sorry, I did not intend to cheat,
    I created a new type of rhyme for you,
    Three dimensional,
    I added colors to words and the rhyme has to match the sound,
    And the color has to match the word,
    The mind has to be open, the eyes dreamy,
    And soft crumbs of bread have to feed trills I loaned from flying minstrels.
    Yes, you can turn on the radio now
    And watch rainbows rhyming away through the windshield...
    Why do I do it? I don't know, never thought of it,
    Maybe because I love you?...


    My love,
    My eyes are closed,
    No, I did not cheat
    Else... why would I still be dreaming in rainbows?
    Maybe... because you love me?...



Far Away

    I close my eyes to see your pain
    The scythe of fate has struck again,
    Show me a portion of your skin
    Untouched by scarlet deep and mean,
    In vain...

    You need to rave? then let me be
    The chapel of your misery
    Feel free my icon bones to smash
    And grind them potion to your gash,
    For me...

    You need to strike? then maul my chest
    Your torture be my welcome guest,
    Just pray me touch the rage you hide
    And gently paint the peace inside
    Your breast...

    You need to weep? then let your tears
    Invade my heart's unfenced frontiers
    And as they boil inside my veins
    Warm hues will dress your blooming plains
    And years...

    I know my heart, I lost the words
    Amongst my mind's bewildered herds,
    Just know I wish you butterflies,
    Soft rainbow dawns, and cooing sighs
    Of birds...



You Smile? But Why?

    I think of you in terms of time
    My minutes... hours try to mime,
    Inside one thimbleful of tears
    I squeeze the life of seven years
    And eons' rhyme...

    I think of you in terms of queens
    My words your cheerful harlequins,
    My hopes... the soldiers in your ranks
    Asleep upon your blooming banks
    And ever greens...

    I think of you in terms of myth
    Your smile my poem's hidden pith,
    When verses mourn of heroes slain
    You are my rite to worlds arcane
    My life's zenith...

    You smile?
    But why?
    There, for a while
    I thought my rainbows do beguile
    Your eye...

    They do,
    But you...

    I think of you in terms of man -
    White flour, seeds, a smidgen bran,
    Your words my kingdom, yet... your heart
    Has touched me like whichever art
    Not ever can...




    Don't cry,
          unless your tear be deep
          and shores be fathoms twenty steep
          and I be waiting down below
          where love's forbidden flowers grow
          to die...

    Don't mourn,
          unless your clenching fist
          about to crush my giving wrist
          be large enough to crush my heart
          and leave my stumbling silly art

    Don't scream,
          unless your voice be shrill
          and morning light be set to kill
          then leave me wait the raging swell
          to carry me to promised hell
          and dream...

    Do cry,
          if I be there by you
          to change your tear cool morning dew
          and in the blue painting your breast
          to seed a sunset's lulling rest
          then fly...

    Do mourn,
          if I be by your side
          the torment's drove away to ride
          into the lands of turning none
          then in your heart to herd a sun

    Do scream,
          if this there be my voice
          inside your sweetness to rejoice
          as yonder mortals' kingdom's fringe
          your world's kaleidoscopic tinge
          will gleam...



Fata Morgana

    I shed my habits way back
    Many dunes ago,
    Keeping just my bow, my quiver of three,
    The only traces in the uniformity of sand those of my sinking feet
    And the bow’s dragging line.
    Nothing nowhere,
    Just huge waves of sand frozen into shimmering immobility
    Their crests sculptured to perfect smoothness by wind
    And gravitation
    And desert’s momentary breathlessness.
    No vultures. No thorns.
    Just sun.

    I stopped,
    Hesitation over, mind over,
    Only thirst, overpowering.
    I fit an arrow to the cord
    Stretched it way beyond my shoulder
    Took aim, steady, unflinching,
    And let go.
    Till the arrow pierced the sun’s heart,
    Its painful tear a lump of fire the size of a continent shooting into space
    Its scream sizzling away together with the fire’s primeval surge
    In the absolute cold of our separating lives.
    I pulled the second arrow from the quiver
    My arm steady, my mind clear, empty,
    I heard a gasp behind me,
    I released the taut cord
    And the second arrow sunk next to the first
    The scream unbearable, inhuman,
    The pain of flames carried by long forking tongues licking stars into oblivion
    Cracks deepening into the crawling red skin
    Leaving me impassive, mindless.
    I picked my third arrow,
    The last one,
    Death at its sharp end
    The final blow.
    “Stop, please...” was the whisper
    And my muscles petrified
    My aim perfect
    As the bleeding sun neared the line separating horizon from void
    Too wounded too slow
    Its dying rivers soaking deep purple
    And bright red into the desert’s sea.
    She floated in front of me
    Hovering between my aim and my arrow’s tip
    Obstructing my view,
    Unleashing my anger.
    “...or you’ll have to rip through me.”
    Where were her eyes?

    “Who are you?” I asked,
    My fingers buzzing under the tremendous cord pull.
    “I am Fata Morgana.”
    “An illusion...”
    “To those who don’t believe...”
    “Millions of them, looking for you,
    Dying at your doorstep,
    Never finding you
    Only your shadow
    Because you do not exist.”
    “Because they do not believe...” she insisted softly,
    “You found me, the first.
    You believed.”

    “No, it is my thirst, my madness, you are still an illusion...”
    “Then let your arrow go,
    Let it pass through me,
    You will see.”

    I was going to, my little finger deserted the cord...
    “You pierced the sun’s heart... do you know of else who did it?...”
    My next finger deserted the cord...
    Then my muscles slowly relaxed,
    The bow untensed,
    My mouth a grimace of pain and unending thirst.
    “I found what?” I asked.
    “I believe in what?”
    “In love...” she sang,
    Picking my arrow and putting it back into the quiver.
    The sun froze, half of it safely hidden behind the world,
    Half still vulnerably exposed to my wrath,
    If wrath there will be.
    “The sun does not go down,” I said.
    “True, if I am not your wish, you can use your third arrow,
    I will not stop you anymore,
    The world can die.”

    “Are you love?”

    Her outline was sparkling with millions of reflections
    Her color pale yellow, uniform,
    The shape of eyes, the shape of lips, the breasts, the toes...
    “Are you love?” I repeated.
    “You did not decide yet.”
    “Are you woman?” I added.
    “You did not decide yet.”
    “Is there a good end or a bad end to this poem, or story?...”
    “You did not decide yet, you are still thinking...”
    “What is this,
    Some cheap unreleased version de Saint Exupéry may have written
    In one of his latest of delusional moments?”
    “I don't know, you are still writing it,” she said.
    “Why did you protect the sun?” I asked,
    Trying to ward off the assailing glints from her body,
    “I am thirsty.”
    “You are thirsty for fire,
    For the sun, for love, for me, for my fire...”

    “Who are you?”
    “I am Fata Morgana,
    The sun is my creator, my creation, my self,
    My poetry,
    My love,
    Waiting for your love and thirst... or death...”

    She sunk her hand into her chest,
    Opening a well at the bottom of which a huge fire ball was raging.
    “What is that, another sun?”
    “No, it is the same sun, can't you see it is bleeding?” she answered
    “Same like the one in your chest...” she added
    Opening a passage between my ribs... a double trail of blood visible,
    The fire inside me pouring lambent upon my skin...
    “Do you want to love me?”
    “Do I have the choice?”
    “You do, I waited all these thousands of years, it is never too late to die...”
    “You are made sand...” I objected weakly
    As the fire pouring out licked the end of my fingers
    And I started touching her outer shell,
    Tiny layers of finest sand peeling off at my touch and falling to our feet
    In the breezeless air.
    “Why is love made of fire enclosed inside a body of sand?
    I may crush you so easily
    Even in a spasm of love
    And then your fire will soak into sand and die...”
    She touched the arrow's tip
    A tiny red point at the end of her long thin sand finger
    Showing where she touched it.
    “You can still shoot the sun through me
    And end our wait,
    Or you can love me ever so tenderly... like loving a woman made of sand...”

    We made love,
    Her invisible eyes tearing dew, soaking right into her cheeks,
    My teeth crunching the fine powdery silica of her lips
    My hands avoiding the yellow stains of her nipples
    Aghast at the fear of crushing them into powder.
    “Use your fire...” she whispered before her torn insides accepted my offering
    And as I allowed my flames cover her body
    Pour into her well
    Our inner suns merging
    The heat unbearable, erupting,
    Her outer layer crystalized
    The sand flowing out of her new shell
    And she turned as brittle as thin as fragile as soap bubbles made of glass.

    “Are you scared?” she asked, scared,
    “I did not know I will turn glass,
    I thought...
    Now I am transparent, breakable, you can see the fire in me
    But dare you still make love to me?...”

    “I am scared,” I answered, scared,
    “I dare not make love to you,
    Loving you is breaking you...”
    "Not loving me is breaking me,” she said, handing me the arrow,
    Her crystal fingers tinkling like frozen drops of dew
    Rolling on a thin silver staircase on their way to a bottomless abyss,
    “You may as well kill my sun... my poetry...”
    “...my poetry... my love...”
    “...our love... our sun...”
    “...us... I am about to write an end to this poem... story...”
    “Is it a good end?”
    “I do not know, I did not write it yet.”

    We made love,
    Forgetting I was making love to a woman of thinnest glass,
    Unable to see her eyes glinting,
    Her lips opening,
    The resilient softness of her breast almost exploding as I tasted it
    Her legs encircling my hips one step away from annihilation.
    “Use your fire...” she whispered before her brittle insides accepted my offering
    And as I allowed my flames cover her body
    Pour into her well
    Our inner suns merging
    The heat unbearable, erupting,
    The glass melted away,
    The flowing flames chilled into flesh
    She turned woman.

    “You believed in me to the end...” she said.
    “I believed in love to the end...” I said.
    “You believed in me to the end...” she said.
    “True...” I said.
    “I was eternal, now I am woman.”
    “You were illusion, now you are woman.”
    I locked the door to her fire with half of my heart.
    She locked the door to my fire with half of her heart.
    “The sun is now free, we have our own sun now.
    May I let it go back to its own world?”

    I picked the third arrow, broke it in two and buried it into the sand.
    Then broke the bow in two and buried it next to the arrow.
    “You are love,” I said.
    “We are love,” she said, throwing one tear into the awaiting half hell.
    The sun started sinking.
    “Is it a good end?” I asked, ready with the final dot.
    “It is poetry, it is tenderness, it is fire...
    It is love,”
    she answered, adding after a slight hesitation,
    “It is not an end.”
    I allowed her flesh to kiss me, my thirst forever unquenched,
    The desert forever blooming...
    I let the final dot fall after the last word.




    your chest heaves upon the steel of an arching spine
    slow motion
    your breasts butterfly wings tinctured with red spots
    exhaling flames
    as my palm's heel quashes the fluttering rebellion
    and boils
    explode on the back of my hand suppurating fire.

    sweat rains
    curtains gliding in rolling irregular motion long your sides
    down your belly
    between thighs convulsing into the momentary spasm of death
    savage trashing of a moaning hurricane building in your lungs
    rips my dams
    and strangled cries of infuriated gods give in to dawning silence.

    i lick the white salt traces marking your ages old flesh canyons
    my fingers
    the barely visible growth of down dragging your insides
    into screams
    as i peel layers of dust off your skin to fit into my fingerprints
    till you seep
    beyond the barriers of my bones into our ever Neverland...


    love, what is love?... you ask.
    you, where are you?... i ask.
    you should not answer with a question... you say.
    i did not... i say.




    Take the cherry in your mouth
    Roll it on your tongue
    Round and round and round
    Till it has almost melted
    Then let it drop the long way
    From your lips
    Between your breasts
    Long your navel
    Till it splashes against my missing rib
    In a splendor of dark red and sugary black
    And when it finishes soaking into my flesh
    Your only choice will be
    To sink your teeth into the dead seed and bite it out of way
    Lest genesis be rewritten
    And we never be born.

    I look amazed at the small round hole
    Right of the middle of the windowpane,
    Ragged cracks of various lengths stretching outward
    Like wings
    And you ask me crying why?
    And I answer crying
    Because it is like never existed
    And forever will be first.

    Do you mean you are creator?
    I mean you created us
    We created love.
    Death is a passing visitor.

    Something is wrong here, it doesn't sound logical.
    Creation is never logical.
    Creation is creation.
    Love is never logical.
    Love is eternal.




    If someone asks you one day
    What is this scar on your chest against your heart,
    Bleeding slightly from time to time,
    Don't tell them.
    This is where I asked permission
    To let my fingers sink
    And rest.
    The invisible arm still connected to my shoulder
    As drops of your pain
    Drip into my stream
    And I am smiling, thankful
    For the infusion.

    Sharing your pain,
    Does it mean you love me?
    "It means you love me," you say.
    You are right.
    The rest does not need mentioning.




    I wish to lie down by your side
    And neighing memories to ride
    Of kings and queens
    Of harlequins
    And tide...

    The sand to hug my tired feet
    As I concede to sweet defeat
    And never seen's
    And might have been's
    To meet...

    Inside your hair to lose my lips
    To draw a curve around your hips
    With thoughts obscene
    With fingers' keen
    Rough tips...

    To listen to the singing lung
    Responding to my prodding tongue
    So warm of mien
    So soft of sheen
    So young...

    My flesh to cloth around your shape
    The pouring fire turning cape
    Soft tangerine
    Soft touch of green
    And grape...

    Then let me feed you lover seed
    And as you drink my morning mead
    To touch my art
    To make your heart
    My creed...



Raining Knives

    Raining knives...
    Welcome autumn of my love,
    Just one more season to go.
    Unless I open my eyes tomorrow
    And I find myself middle of the forest
    Waking up from a turbid dream
    With sunshine filtering through dense red curls
    And fingertips plucking at my chest's hairs
    In lover's insanely sweet vengeance...

    Raining knives,
    Cutting through skin, flesh, bone,
    Turning icicles inside caverns carved into my body
    Till I look like a rotting cactus caught in desert's deep winter,
    Dew frozen on its thorns,
    Birds dead inside its colorful flowers
    Caught unawares of advancing white onslaught.
    Unless I open my eyes tomorrow
    Waking up from the mirage of dream
    And green sparks burn parcels of my body
    In dense patches shaped stars and circles
    As they flee the heaven of green eyes
    For the crawling hell of my skin's touch
    In lover's insanely sweet vengeance...

    Raining knives,
    Icicles melting at bottom of wounds
    Leaving thimble deep blue lagoons filled with the rot of blood
    Nurturing thousands of red roses growing above my skin
    In layers upon layers of curiosity driven stems
    Looking for the sun and feeding on the rot
    Till I am lost under a blanket of felicitous wreathed scent
    And beauty and nepenthe.
    Unless I open my eyes tomorrow
    Waking up from the crafts of dream
    And brown specks of irregularly shaped freckles float down to my skin
    As you shake your shaggy mane
    And your skin sheds its leopard silken beauty
    Seeping under my skin, inside my wish, inside my want
    In lover's insanely sweet vengeance...

    I lie down in the field,
    Bare of cloth, bare of shield,
    My chest stricken
    My belly ripped open
    My legs, arms, nailed to the ground
    My eyes pierced
    My heart untouched,
    Wondering about it.
    Did you save it for the last?
    Or as I open my eyes tomorrow
    Reality merges with dream
    And I find you pulling out knives, then icicles, then roses,
    Sewing closed my wounds with strands of red hair
    Cauterizing solid my lesions with boiling green tears
    Disguising invisible my scars with timid brown freckles
    While a desperate hand goes for my heart
    Grabs it in a steely fist
    And pumps hell into it?

    Hell?... Love?... a voice I seem to recognize asks
    Leaving me guessing at the insanity of sweetness
    As the scarlet of lips designs pathways of shivering desire
    Reviving crumbling memories of skin...



Of Memories

    If memories were a house
    I would knock on the door
    And ask for permission
    To come in and never leave

    I would never repair the roof
    Or paint the window sills
    Or get rid of the shaggy old dog
    Sharing shadows of you
    With me.

    Every morning the same bird
    Would chirrup me awake
    As I pull above my head
    The warm blanket of your

    Time would be locked safely
    In the green kitchen jar
    Holding your stained letters
    Your lock of hair your sighs

    As storms and floods would pass
    Scents of love making eddying
    And touches fluttering lightly
    Would leave red burn blisters in
    My flesh.

    Memories?... yesterdays?... gone?...
    You asked, your shiver pale.
    Memories... tomorrows... coming...
    I answered, my handhold green.

    Memories are a house... someone said.
    I wonder who. I knocked on the door.



Rainbows, Rainbows

    Rainbows, rainbows dripping thin
    Sliding down along my chin
    Born inside the stormy night
    Shared by tongues in fearful fight.

    Rainbows, rainbows growing stains
    Sprouting off thin nipping grains
    When invading cruel teeth
    Plow your breasts' impassioned heath.

    Rainbows, rainbows dressing tunes
    Deep your mind's forbidden dunes
    Leaving bustling whisper throngs
    Mix my letters into songs.

    Rainbows, rainbows tying knots
    Round my finger's bony spots
    Round your finger's bleeding grove
    Wedding dreams to sacred trove.

    Rainbows, rainbows blanket thin
    Be these lovers' magic skin
    Weaving passions into lace
    Fingers into ever grace.




    My fingernails scratch layers of glass
    you are on the other side
    do you hear me?

    I push against the transparent wall
    looking for a handle to open
    a scratch to climb on

    You pass by never glancing my way
    waving hello to someone
    way over there

    I slide down along the smooth surface
    the spot of blood drying
    as it drags along

    Till I slump into an incoherent lump
    knowing I am as invisible
    as the wall.

    I hear the noise
    fingers cutting through
    glass spitting crystal blobs on my skin

    As it melts
    under your imperial touch
    letting in sounds of life from another world

    I fail again
    trying to raise my head
    letting time and space decide my fate

    dissipating into mists
    coagulating into a figure crouching at my side

    And a soft hand
    cleaning my forehead
    before penetrating my chest and healing my heart.



The Color Lilac

    I remember it white,
    The virginal beauty of snowflakes frozen forever into a quadrature of petals
    Melting inside my fist into white tears

    I remember it blue,
    More dense than that and I could swim in it
    Like swimming in blue wine

    I remember it violet,
    Sunset waves hitting my sanity with fragments of a dying sun
    Burning my eyes with stains of violet fire

    My garden, remembering white, blue, violet,
    Never... brown.
    Never knew of brown lilac
    Till I found it.
    Till I died... loving it.

    Close my eyes and let my senses
    Hover closely to your skin
    Breaking down ingrained defenses
    In the wake of surging sin,
    Snapping teeth the guise of cleaver
    Ripping habit's stretching seams
    From a flesh enslaved by fever
    Dangling chains of lustful dreams.

    Stabs a scream your arcing body,
    Soars a tongue of flame unleashed
    Forging craves uncouth and shoddy
    Wants unborn and never wished
    Into one unending ripple
    Turning worlds to drifting dust
    As I fall, a wasted cripple,
    In the beauty of your lust.

    Sweet perfumes my senses plunder
    As your breast's caressing touch
    Hugs my lips... I gaze in wonder,
    Oh, delight as never such...
    Tender bliss upon me settles
    Nectar drinking, as I drown,
    From those freckle flower petals...
    Oh, those fields of lilac brown...




    I use the words I never knew I know,
    I sip the sighs I never knew the flow,
    Then late at night when dreams my hunger wean
    My craving eyes from foreign landscapes glean...
          your glow...

    I asked the moon - where has all beauty gone
    Claiming the light asleep in morning's yawn?
    It smiled, then laughed awaking prancing dew
    And chilled my skin refreshing things I knew...
          your dawn...

    The wind I begged - my friend from way out west
    Whence comes the life which grows inside your chest?
    It whistled loud, then tore my flipping shirt
    Reminding me I knew its place of birth...
          your breast...

    Oh song divine - your trillings' haunting art
    Becomes undone, where does it all depart?
    It sang a tune, then whispered in my ear
    All things I knew and ever will revere...
          your heart...

    I use the words I know, a word like dove,
    And simple childish rhymes, a rhyme like glove,
    Yet heaven evil I would call and hell sublime
    If know I'd know this grants me for all time...
          your love...



Inches Away From The Sun

    Inches away
    from the sun
    wondering - how come I am still alive?
    after all
    I don't believe in miracles.

    miracles don't have to be believed in to happen
    suns die
    without fire.

    a glimmering cloud lifting up before a quick blink cut its life
    leaving it hanging on my cheeks
    her tears
    my eyes.

    let me burn I heard myself praying
    refusing to give up my balcony of honor
    inches away
    from the sun.


    I opened my right hand's palm
    my life line
    absorbing the red of her nipple's life
    crushing the white of her breast against the hidden of her rib
    I saw the spark running
    the quiet absolute
    the suns igniting

    tiny claws pulling apart the frailty of our humanity
    sending it to the ends of unconsciousness
    blind deaf howling the prayer of never ending
    as finally I burned
    and jade tinted pearls accepted my entry into absolute pain.

    I love you human
    she said
    so many years forever after
    when we finally gathered back into one shapeless unity
    the only memory of our previous deprived selves
    the red of her nipple encrusted in the line of my life
    and those suns
    inches away
    painfully burning away the last dregs of my derelict humanity.

    Inches away
    from the sun
    oh, the fire...




    The hugging inch of silver ring
    Beyond the miles of silver string
    Where flitting days of silver bliss
    Have shared one lonesome silver kiss.

    I see the tufts of silver weeds alighting in your hair
    Lone messengers of winter's prime enchased sinister flair
    Invading ridges freshly carved into your landscape's dunes
    And wrenching grains of clinging sand from time's exalting tunes.

    The splash of rolling silver beads
    Inside a sea of silver seeds
    Afloat upon a silver bed
    Adorned with clumps of silver thread.

    You see the pain of silver nights awoken into day
    Deserted pebbles crumbling down along my miles of way
    Old memories of open wounds alive with oozing pus
    The trace of hope which pierced my heart reminding me of us.

    Asleep inside a silver mind
    Awaits a dream of silver kind
    Till note be served by silver rhyme
    Of tender love at silver time.

    I feel the warmth of silver glow alive upon my face
    Like finger tips disrobed of skin along a bleeding trace.
    You feel the warmth of silver love inside your aching craves
    My finger tips my heart my soul your everlasting slaves.




    I wrote

    Roving robins perching lightly on my fingers taut and thin
    Chirping gaily as they watch me picking freckles from your skin
    Huddling later in amazement as I touch a giving breast
    And the colors of desire wake up glows descending west...

    She answered

    In my chest awakens fire
    Stolen from your broken nail
    As it raped my silent lyre
    Letting songs of passion sail...

    I dared further, I wrote

    At a sign the flock’s dispersing, trilling echoes linger aft
    As my fingers’ deft desire in your flesh the glory graft,
    Color streaming through your body waits for dawn’s igniting spark
    As your back is slowly plying into love’s alluring arc...

    She answered

    Gleans my fingernail its duty
    From beneath your bleeding skin,
    Trails of love’s eternal beauty
    Merging pain in tender sin...

    I dared

    Ramming flesh assails your castle past your ramparts folding walls
    Pouring barrel-loads of fire down the screaming tensing halls
    Sowing future’s waiting morrows with a plea beyond the urge
    And while silence falls enchanted, robins from your lips emerge...

    I waited. She did not answer right away. I knew she would. She answered.

    In my belly seeds be blooming,
    In my song a rhyme divine,
    As a life I will be grooming
    All of yours, and all of mine...




    Started chasing you with morning
    Muddled with unfinished dreams
    When you pinched me with no warning
    Mid of laughter's tinkling streams.

    Didn't find it all too funny
    When your tickle base and mean
    Made me wish to lick your honey
    And to leave your insides clean.

    Neither did my temper's raving
    Find much soothe into the fact
    That for years I have been craving
    An excuse to clinch my act.

    Found my shirt... or rather tatters,
    Found my shoes... or rather shreds,
    Now there's one thing which still matters...
    And my mind sweet poison sheds.

    Bare of chest, of foot, of reason
    I descend into the field,
    Time has come to chasten treason
    Now its nature was revealed.

    Broken twigs, a rolling pebble...
    There's the heathen running way
    Wait till justice gets you, rebel
    Wild like morning's sunshine ray.

    Nimble feet through vineyards running
    Scratches peeling scraps of skin
    Laughter ripe with youthful cunning
    Dropping hints of pending sin,

    Flows the maiden pouring glimmer
    Pours the green from shining eyes
    And a sun keeps getting dimmer
    As her fire grips the skies.

    But my step is getting louder
    And my breath is getting shrill
    As my lungs turn arid powder
    And I lose the lust to kill.

    On my fours I fall, exhausted,
    And my head drops to the ground
    As I'm slowly getting roasted
    By the mindless sunshine pound.

    Feet approach, her soles are bleeding
    As they quash the fallen grapes
    Sticky juice the passions feeding
    And the wine my reason rapes.

    Breast to chest the bunches crushing
    Simmers dark the rotten fruit
    And the wine from wounds is gushing
    And my sanity its loot.

    Mouth to mouth she feeds me flowers,
    Green of grape and nipple red,
    Best of wines and last of hours
    As desires sweetly wed...




    Passing my mind...
    Shining on skin bare...
    Raking through sweat
    On skin
    Like screams painting ecstasy on wet sand...

    A five tipped diamond stylus
    Playing five voices
    On an unformed yet LP record...
    A five armed gypsy
    Playing on the tempestuous five layered violin of your summoning body...
    Your purr,
    Turning sigh turning growl turning howl turning suspire
    The last sound the universe hears
    Before it dies
    To have reached beyond the laconic beauty of Elysium...

    Visions passing my mind,
    Your eyes
    The only leftovers
    Of a dead universe.



Dead Butterflies

    Of my past,
    Dead inside words inside phrases inside poems,
    Imprinting themselves on the retina of your eyes
    The black turning blue soaking into the green
    Dead filigree wings bathing in imaginary colors
    Growing into mind size
    Growing into mindless size
    Rainbows turning grey
    Wings turning capes turning shrouds
    Turning curtains
    Suddenly flapping open
    Hiding the sun
    Death carrying on dead wings
    Shadows crawling over the world
    Soaking power from life, from pain,
    From illusions of death.

    Close the box,
    Let blue shadows crawl back from green fields
    Let them turn back into needle pierced lifeless shapes,
    Disintegrating wings,
    Dry bodies,
    The antiseptic smell of formaldehyde,

    Open up your eyes again,
    Let squirming chrysalises turn fresh butterfly clouds
    Sprouting away
    Painting your sun colors.





    Those memories we do have not
    When John Fitzgerald K was shot,

    Life may have been,
    I chased you pulling flailing braids
    From toddler crawl through high school grades
    And peeked under your knee long skirt
    Mistaking mirth with teenage flirt
    Till once, I barely know the age,
    The first my mind turned blind with rage
    When he ignored your mild protest
    His hand upon your budding breast...

    Those souvenirs we do share not
    When Martin Luther K was shot,

    Life may have been,
    The fire green of sparkling stare
    The fire red of ribboned hair
    The fire white of chiffon veil
    Your thumping chest, your visage pale,
    The magic words... I do... I do...
    The waking up of blushing hue
    When in that lonesome screaming burst
    I found I'll ever be your first...

    Those recollections we own not
    When John the Beatle L was shot,

    Life may have been,
    The agony of ripping knife
    A seeded grain into a life
    The bundle suckling at your breast
    In arms the steel of feathers nest,
    The growing pride of passing years
    Through gleaming hopes and fading tears
    Till hand in hand we fade unseen
    And wither into love serene...



    Some memories, the few we got
    Since John Fitzgerald K was shot,

    Life was,
    I chased you pouring letter seed
    Upon a field replete with weed
    My fingers tackling nettle leaf
    Deep down inside your pounding fief
    To find behind the bubbling spite
    Astride upon a rainbow kite
    Behind a shield of prickly thorn
    A daisy sweet as early morn...

    Some souvenirs, which share we ought
    Since Martin Luther K was shot,

    Life was,
    The fire green of growling lust
    The gripping pain of fate unjust
    The moments few of joy insane
    Entwining love with rites arcane
    When tears divine of moments gone
    Reflect the cruel lights of dawn
    And parting fingers carry screams
    Inside the dying world of dreams.

    Some recollections, not a lot
    Since John the Beatle L was shot,

    Life was,
    The agony of seeds unborn
    Asleep inside an ever mourn
    The choking sound of hidden wail
    Its broken wing a failing sail
    A setting jaw a sparkling eye
    A stubborn pride unleashed unshy
    A hand demanding hand and vow
    To ever live the rage of now...


    Remember love,

    And let your love impale my chest
    And let my blood adorn your breast...



Love Poetry

    Love poetry, I said.

    Poetry, not story? she pouted her lips,
    Pulling her hand away from mine,
    Closing her eyes
    Retreating to her side of the car.
    Poetry is short,
    Easily forgotten,
    Words hiding meanings
    In obscure phrases.
    Story is rich,
    Has a beginning, an end, a content...
    Story is real.

    Poetry is sunrise, I said
    Short, devastating fire,
    Poetry is sunset,
    I said
    Short moments of glory,
    Dreams easily forgotten,
    Promises made in obscure phrases
    The music of words richer than earliest of morning trills.
    Story is real,
    Reality ends.
    Poetry is eternal.

    She opened her eyes, hesitatingly,
    Sliding back to my side of the car,
    Head on my shoulder,
    Arm around me.
    And I am?... she finally asked
    Almost afraid to be right.

    I kissed the top of her head.
    You are wrong... I said and she sighed happily.
    Sunrise, sunset, dreams, promises, music...
    You are poetry,