Hobbies - Poetry - AnonymousGreen
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Raging Rivers

    ...to the land where grapes are growing shaped to chalice brimming nectar
    and a sleepy lark is morning’s most notorious defector
    guiding pebbles up the river searching life’s eluding reason
    past the den where passing winters summer’s memories imprison,

    to the home past grumbling mountains dropping forests into gullies
    vainly aiming for the cricket whose lament the haven sullies
    way beyond the honey mire trapping grains of rainbow color
    in its endless yawning bubbles dragged by fog’s advancing trawler,

    to the bed of rustling foliage strewn with letter speckled petals
    torn from miles of raving passion which my skin with rapture nettles
    and as agony’s long ribbons clothe your flesh with burning slivers
    we will soak into tomorrow’s raging rivers... raging rivers...

    lover mine of rhymes unending dressing green my desert’s valley
    faithful words one thousand many pull the oars of my dream’s galley
    in my mind beyond the shivers chilly winds of north are blowing
    whispered words my lungs embracing where we going... where we going?...



For Music

    Don’t undress my love,
    That top button
    Give me a few moments to swallow this mountain of saliva
    invading my throat...
    Better now.

    Now sing to me,

    I know you think you can’t sing,
    Let me be the judge of that,
    And the public... no, not the jury,
    This is not a trial
    This is a love story
    A real story
    A real love,

    May I close my eyes?
    Of course I want to see you
    Eyes are not necessarily needed for this
    I just want to eliminate the crack on the wall
    And the spider in the corner
    And the broken tile
    The curtains... yes, you may touch me,
    No, don’t kiss me
    Just sing,
    Please sing.

    Oh, sorry, did I fall asleep?
    Please, my love, this is no sign of insult
    This is sign of appreciation to what your voice does to my senses
    All of them, yes, also my sight.
    Do you know that once your voice penetrates my skin
    It tells me words I never knew
    Through senses I never owned
    In a body I never had till you came along
    and... sang to me?
    Do you know the words to your melody, my love?

    Now you can open that top button,
    And let me open all the rest
    Down to your waist
    Beyond it
    To your ankles
    Do you mind if I rip mine off
    And then let you rip off
    The rest of my skin
    No, don’t worry about ripping my heart off
    You did it a long time ago,
    Thank you my love.

    Thank you for what?... you ask?
    For music.



Love, Violently

    Brown flakes cram down,
    Grain to grain to grain
    The sand forms itself into myriad star shapes
    Beyond snow flakes imagination
    and monochromatic kaleidoscopic dreams
    and abstract brush drippings
    Hidden from world’s eye by the sole of your foot
    As it steps into the encompassing crumbling oven
    sinking ankle deep
    And underneath it worlds of art form
    as the sand competes with the giants of the universe
    in its desire to satisfy the softness of your heel,

    Wars rage and empires rise and fall
    And killer tsunamis devastate the depths of your toes’ indentations
    conquering for eternal scraps of second
    the place next to your sole’s skin and between your toes
    and underneath your toenails
    Ready to die a heroic death once your foot rises
    and grains slide back into the small crater resting behind
    And none knows of the violent death of loving sand stars
    as they merge back with mother dune
    into shapeless make-belief indifference.

    I see where your foot is about to thread
    I jump, I skid, I lie down
    The silicate armies grinding between my teeth and under my eyelids
    and into my throat
    Penetrating past slices of skin into the muscled kingdom of flesh
    Fighting ferociously for a right denied to them
    for the time of your next step
    To cushion your heel again, and your bounce again
    And die again in the mindless war ending with the eternal quiet
    of a sinking trace in the desert.

    You step on me,
    Your foot sinks between my splintering ribs
    And inside moments stolen from the raving mad rolling crests
    I feel the ravenous hunger of sand awakening in my skin
    and human armies of bone and muscle and marrow
    slaughter each other
    Fighting for that lonesome mad unique moment
    when you touch, and then you bounce, and then you are gone.

    You are gone.
    And love has left violently inerasable death
    In the desert, in my body, in my life.

    I wake up,
    I feel fingers tracing my lips
    Pulling out mountains of victorious sand from inside my mouth,
    From rib ends piercing spots of skin,
    From underneath eyelids,
    And as you sing me to sleep caressing my head in your lap
    I know that love was this once
    stronger than the eternity of those most eternal of desert armies.
    You are returned.




    The purity of a soprano
    Rigoletto’s Gilda
    Madame Butterfly’s Cio Cio San
    La Traviata’s Violetta
    Like a perfect knife cutting through the hearing system
    The way a drop of molten metal
    Cuts through a skeleton of butter
    The smoothness of perfection incomparable unachievable.

    I feel you next to me in the big concert hall
    We two, alone with the divas on the stage
    And your shivers run in unison with the sound
    Going on beyond the moment of inevitable death
    And end
    And maddening human sorrow
    Dressed in so much artistic imaginary love.

    Your fingernails meet end to end as they pass through my wrist
    Your teeth chattering as pieces of my shoulder end in your mouth
    And when I look inside those pleading green suns
    I see
    The end of art and imagination
    And the beginning of

    The only purity I will ever live through
    Without being soaked into the other side
    Of sanity,
    The purity of your love.




    When morning spills inside my yard
    It’s broken jar of honey
    Forgetting in one tiny shard
    A promise green and sunny,

    I cup inside my begging palm
    Your tender sleeping cherry
    And soak inside my chest the calm
    Of one awaking fairy.

    A roving bunch of early rays commits a reckless blunder
    And crawls beneath my eyelids’ flesh to tear my dreams asunder
    My moaning growl turns silly smile as fingers touch my cherry
    And as it springs to sudden life, he whispers... hey, there, fairy...

    The rooster visiting the porch
    Sends wake-up prayers rolling
    And summons east’s almighty torch
    To heed once more its calling,

    I leave my brazen back of hand
    Ride mountain down to willow
    Till gasps join rooster’s one-man band
    And fire hugs your pillow.

    Ten thousand ants beneath my skin in drunken glory lumber
    The hunger fed moments ago awakes from murky slumber
    A drizzle turns to tidal crave and rapes my sleeping willow
    As dams explode my belly deep and peace assails my pillow.

    I strain to hear the sounds unheard
    While morning moths keep dancing
    And bold beyond the swoon of bird
    Sun’s messengers romancing,

    My toe counts puddles down your back
    Beyond ravine’s soft dwelling
    Impudent drops of liquid skin
    My thirst and passion quelling.

    Your arms around my heaving chest the slowing wriggles capture
    As bodies slide through other lands entombed in dying rapture
    Against the muscle of your chest I’ll build my morrow’s dwelling
    The songs awaking in your heart insane desires quelling.




    I will leave with you my thoughts.
    Hidden in that secret nook at the base of your skull
    Which your brain kept empty and clean
    For all of your years
    Till one day
    My thoughts changed to letters
    And the letters to strings of words
    seeding into the fertile barren lands
    poems, love, songs,
    Tiny blood rivulets irrigating the lush fields
    To never die.

    I will leave with you my touches.
    Lambent upon your skin
    Burning your transparent hair ends into the heavenly stank
    of awaking lavender and dying rose
    and love making on back cutting pebbles,
    Soaked in memories of skin desires
    and sculpting the inimitable art of goose bumps
    piercing clouds of stretching shapeless freckles
    To never forget.

    I will leave with you my bodily odors.
    Locked in the flaring vaults of your nostrils
    and minuscule nerve ends,
    The human pheromones of clammy sweat
    and glistening seborrhea and sticky love purge,
    The inhuman pheromones of eucalyptus after-shave
    and mint tooth paste and freshly laundered underwear,
    The fading pheromones of a shared pizza bite
    we chewed mouth to mouth
    To never part.


    You will leave with me nothing, lover,
    Except... you.



It Was Never Love

    Hand in hand.
    It was never love.
    The hand in turning fist.

          What was it?

    The dirt under fingernails?
    The hunger of infant,
    The chill of snow,

          Death? Why death?

    You did not ask about dirt, hunger, chill...

          Dirt is beautiful
          scraps of lover’s carnal desire imprisoned
          in momentary horny cages
          of lover’s insanity moment,
          at my breast turns victorious sleep
          as a toothless mouth sucks life
          into growing humanhood,
          Chill’s embracing adytum
          offers the sanctity of sanctuary
          to snowflake’s ephemeral one timely
          But death?

    Life is evitable,
    Death is inevitable.

          And love?

    And love.
    The fist turning hand in again,
    So soft...

    Mouth in mouth.
    Her preferred pondering position,
    Never was love.
    The mouth in turning teeth.

          You said it already.
          You just changed some words around.

    Words are meaningless,
    Meanings are wordless,
    Visions buried in my mind
    looking for venues to pass trough lips
    into your mind’s garden
    forever locked away from me
    to understand know fertilize sow.

          Lips are not only word venues.

    What are lips?

          Lips are soundless words
          the gist of message embedded in
          warmth softness bite blood shiver
          Never lying once their message passes
          to lips.

    About love?
    About love!
    The teeth turning mouth in again,
    So sweet...

    Body in body,
    Past humanity,
    Way deep into loverity,
    Unchartered unknown territory
    Seeded with traps ferocious
    and treasures immeasurable
    and fate as undefined as lovers’ wishes define.
    Love is never was.
    The body in turning enemy.

          I will tame my territory with wild flower stamens
          robbed from your body’s unchartered skin paths
          Snap closed the jaws of my traps with touches
          snatched away from the ferocity of your fingertips
          Offer you my treasures immeasurable
          laced with thick drops of nectar sliding long my mouth’s side
          If you tell me the punctuation to your words
          and the meaning to your convolutions.

    I speak no more riddles
    Have no more words
    Only left with punctuation aberrations and mistakes
    to tell you all the things you will never know
    about my heart’s
    untellable secrets.


    Unchartered, ferocious, immeasurable.

          Unchartered, ferocious, immeasurable love?

    Love untellable.
    Love is is.
    The enemy turning body in again.
    So warm...

          Your mistake of words I know
          accept desire wish
          till I know your love

    Till the end of words
    It is a long time.

          Till the end of love
          It is never.



Night Has Fallen

    Evening’s fringes drop down like cobblestones
    pouring out from a celestial overturned wheelbarrow
    crushing in hasty accomplishment
    day’s peddlers lingering back in crevices,
    rock fissures,
    flower heads prudishly closing for the night
    over crumbs of yellow light forgotten in their midst
    frightened into the unconsciousness of an eventual tomorrow...
    or none...

    Light, dark, nothing in between.

    My eyes move on,
    the fringes now gone for the forever of one night
    and the rest of the billowing sheet of darkness floats down
    in a no hurry mistaken for hesitation
    by the mindless landscapes
    submerging in the relentlessly advancing
    no remorse

    Night has fallen.

    I shiver inside my bed of thoughts,
    the debatable bliss of civilization
    unhooking its infusing needles from my brain’s cells
    and the primeval pleasure of an untamed animal
    penetrates the momentarily freed venues
    lodging permanent residence in my mind.

    I love you.

    Wild horses at war with mountain lions
    filling me with images of slicing claws and crushing hooves
    and blood gurgling over splintered bone and... daisies?...
    of all flowers... daisies?...
    I push forward into the slaughter field,
    A human bulldozer plowing his way
    where better and stronger had fallen
    and as I approach I feel the needles ramming their way back
    into the shortly liberated recesses
    the well oiled machinery of civilization
    claiming its glorious return
    infesting my mind anew
    as the puniness of me sticks up an impertinent middle finger
    into its face
    before I lie down and curl around my chosen daisy,
    hug her to my chest,
    and sing us both to sleep.

    I hear the neighing of horses
    turning the cough of diesel motors
    and the lions’ roar turning the curse of human voices
    as night finally conquers my insides of skin
    and nothing is left but a tiny piping voice
    speaking straight into my coherence.
    “I thought you would never return,” she says,
    and a blast of green sunlight turns my world to cinders.
    “I never knew a daisy talking in girl’s voice,
    a tiny smock of hair bound atop her head
    in mock pony-tail fashion
    and able to burn my universe into the green of beautiful chaos
    singing in colors.”
    I hug her tighter,
    petals crushing, the heart of sun smearing yellow rainbows
    amongst the hairy forests of my chest.
    “I will never never return,” I add.

    Cars and trucks and trains roll all over us
    as we huddle into one clump of flesh
    and slip into each other’s dream.



Juke Box

    The quarters tinkle, then they fall,
    The stabbing sounds of rock and roll
    Caress my mind,
    Betray my fear,
    As thoughts obscure through reason stroll.

    The needle stumbles, then it skips
    Sore victim to its lonesome trips,
    Another coin,
    And then one more,
    Another groove through reason rips.

    The crackles sputter, then they ride
    To death upon a sole tear’s tide,
    An empty glass,
    A dirty rim,
    And visions bleak through reason glide.

    The moment’s fading, then it tries
    Once more to reach the green of eyes,
    The quarter’s gone,
    The music lost,
    And reason wanes, and reason dies.



Dementiality, Four

    Sitting in front of an empty paper,
    Rolling boulders up the mountain
    Sliding on detaching pieces of stone rubble
    Digging in
    One shoe falls to pieces
    The bleeding heel takes over
    The other shoe still in one piece... for how long?
    Heave... Shove...
    The pencil hastily dressing hooks to my knees
    Muscles to my shoulders, neck,
    Another inch...
    What is there at the top worthy of the gigantic effort
    Bleeding thoughts glinting through my palms
    One slippery moment of inattention
    And the boulder rolls down
    Over me
    Past my dismembered ridiculous shoe,
    Back into the valley.

    I draw butterflies swimming elegantly around the resting boulder
    The air a motionless river
    The butterflies green
    The mountain growing taller, inviting,
    Inviting for what?
    I crumple the piece of paper, shove it into the garbage can
    And start anew.

    What are you writing there lover?
    Asks one butterfly escaping the crunching fist
    Its hairy abdomen gyrating counter clockwise
    And its antennae trying to decipher my meaningless scribble
    While listening to some internal music rhythm
    As it touches ink dot after ink dot,
    Clutching wings with other butterflies
    Flooding the valley from far away memories
    And covering my face, mouth,
    Choking me.

    I answer
    Finding my boulder again and pitching my will against it
    Dementiality? it insists
    The hairy abdomen turning curly fire
    The spots on its wings sucking in the green dye
    And turning eyes
    The body shriveling down to one single point
    Then growing back into face, skin, leopard spots... freckles!...
    I hear a tiny voice, as the fire climbs upon the skull
    And the eyes dig nooks in the face
    And woman emerges from under my pen and boulder and need
    And lips brand me like high prized cattle
    Beneath my nipples...
    Brand you like high prized lover... the tiny voice repeats a song
    I never heard before
    And the boulder crumbles to dry-thorn dust
    And the mountain offers me its crown
    And I lay the crown upon your head
    Promising to let summer birds build a nest among your curly fire
    Singing us back into the forest once upon a time
    We were thrown out of...

    I love you.




    After making love
    For the seventh time,
    I watched you slide into that obscure kingdom
    Where none can follow
    But your past and your hopes
    And your fears
    The wicked ways of brain mixing the ingredients
    into a fizzling jumble
    And creating visions beautiful, snarling, soothing...

    I felt you snuggling into my side
    Pouting, then smiling,
    My left arm refusing to let go of your shoulder
    While my right traced well marked red lines
    down your side, up your chest,
    Pinching your skin no harder than a flower’s rim
    closing for the night...

    When did you fall asleep?
    I lay there content,
    Watching the changing expressions on your face
    As you frowned to some wrong and then laughed at some joke
    Your feet jerking from time to time,
    Probably chasing squirrels in the park,
    I knew of your dreams, you told me of them,
    I envied their untouchable reality,
    I dozed off...

    I should not have...

    I felt the sudden jolt,
    Sounds leaving your throat and bypassing your mouth
    In terror
    Your muscles steeled ripping out of my hold
    you stumbled off the bed
    crawling on all fours to the floor
    away from the beast clawing its way into your clothes
    into your body
    tearing your sanity to shreds and your skin to pieces
    You reached the wall and hit it with your head
    The sound, hollow, terrifying, again, again,
    Stop it!... Stop it!... I screamed scurrying after you
    and taking hold of your flailing arms
    Touching your skin with caressing lips,
    your hair with caressing fingers
    as your dilated pupils tried to retrieve their way
    from the inferno just visiting you
    and focus back
    on this world’s reality
    and the comforting nest of arms
    of the one who loves you.

    One hour later,
    You shivered no longer,
    We remained huddled against the wall
    and you released clumps of my flesh
    from the vise of your fingers
    smiling weakly, apologetically.
    He visited you again, I stated, not questioning,
    The beast, raped you again, never letting go...
    You did not answer, did not have to,
    The lamp hanging in the room oscillating
    in sympathizing harmony with the pounding of your heart.
    I kissed you.
    I wish I was there, I repeated the words of yesterday,
    And the day before,
    And you knew what I meant.

    My beast, my hell... a smile effaced the paleness of your lips
    and you closed your eyes.
    I felt the eyeballs still fluttering underneath eyelids
    Against the hair of my chest.
    Do you also have a hell? you asked,
    almost scared of the sound of the words,
    of the meaning.
    Yes, I answered,
    did not have to think of it,
    so easy...
    Not being able to share your hell... I added.
    You opened green stains and focused them on my eyes.
    I had to close them, did not plan on getting blind
    before seeing enough of you.
    And a heaven? you asked further, do you have a heaven too?
    Again one of those easy questions,
    I wish you would have asked me more difficult ones.
    Yes, I do, I said, tasting your eyes,
    Sharing your hell.
    You knew of my answer,
    of course you did,
    yet I did not know of your following question,
    and was unprepared, surprised.
    And I, do I have a heaven? you asked.

    Funny, I thought to myself,
    How easy all questions are, how easy the answers
    once you do not have to think
    but to feel.
    I insisted on crawling back into bed,
    Pulled the thick comforter above our heads
    to hide our nakedness from the walls
    and the lamp and the wardrobe,
    Soaking the warmth from your body
    and feeding you love in return.
    We, we do have a heaven, I stated matter of factly,
    The beast vanquished for one more night,
    your heartbeat racing with soft delight
    back from the fearsome fields of past terrors.
    Which is it, you ask?
    and I stubbornly refused the offer of blindness.
    Sharing, I answered,

    Then opened my eyes
    finally allowing blithe blindness to conquer my life.




    Damn distance curse.
    Clicked once more the mail link
    Yet the count stubbornly shows zero.
    The pain...

    Is it your voice
    Guessing my heart’s weather
    And assuaging the storm with...
    A whisper?...

    Counting time beats.
    I have waited eons for you,
    Can wait a few more days for us.
    Love you.



That Touch Of Glass

    I slid the back of my fingers
    down your upper arm,
    Feeling the crushed glass cutting thin deep channels
    into my skin,
    Colorful pieces of it dislodging
    and finding new haven inside my flesh.

    Why? I asked.
    Why What?
    Why the glass?
    I am not enemy,
    I am not invader,
    I am lover.
    You were lover.

    I slide my fingers again
    down the empty space above the seat next to me
    Craving that touch of glass.



Real Color

    I wish I could talk,
    I am mute.
    Funny all these wordy titles
    About worthless me and my words,
    King of the..., Master of the..., Queen...
    Yeah, Queen of the..., ha, better said Eunuch of the...
    Don’t you think?

    Look at me,
    All this wasted ink and time and electricity
    thick dictionaries and sleepless nights
    English re-scribed and expressions
    uninvented yet
    and I cannot even get through this very simple message
    to you.
    I love you.

    Time to burn my poetry books, I guess.
    No, you are right, that would be a waste.
    Better send them to some retarded third world country,
    They could smear some culture on their skin
    while wiping their ass with, maybe, this very poem.
    Sorry, friends,
    Next time I will get it printed on tissue paper,
    Soaks better the realities of life.
    Oh, yeah, and its real color.




    I listen to a poet,
    I don’t understand a word, he sings in Russian,
    His voice roughened by a lifetime of cigarettes and vodka,
    A real poet,
    I listen and feel it swallowing me, drenching me in feelings
    And sweat
    I prefer not to understand... I feel... I sip...
    Dregs of insanity envelop my mind with soothing whispers...
    My brother the poet, how do you do it,
    How did you guess my mood and break my walls
    And conquered the castle of my melancholy
    Pouring your heart
    Into mine
    And singing it?
    Do we feel the same? I guess we do, though you are so much better.
    It is not for the others we sing,
    It is for us we sing it, we know our truths,
    We know our misunderstood words,
    None else does, none else has to,
    None else except... except...
    Do you think the same?...

    I cut the monolog of my thoughts as the track changes.
    Vysotsky his name. Fastidious Horses his song. Dead.
    Shivers cutting my carcass into burning slices
    As his rasp penetrates between flesh molecule and flesh molecule
    And pitilessly rips and rips
    Don’t stop! I feel like shouting,
    Tell me my story
    In the absolute beauty
    Of your art
    Tell me once more of the terrifying realization
    Of the undeniable verity of... I love you.

    I look around me,
    The music over.
    Did anyone hear me?



‘in Clan

    I try to cut a slice of bread,
    Half of my sandwich for the day,
    My trembling hand
    finally succeeding to get hold of the knife’s wooden handle,
    I clamp down on the piece of wood
    and try to hold the thin serrated steel blade
    against the bread loaf
    scrapping crust pieces all over the floor
    I use my second hand to hold it sword fashion
    and somehow their shivers cancel each other
    as each chooses a different random direction
    and the blade steadies a bit
    penetrating the heart of loaf
    till a shapeless shaggy slice falls off.
    One done, one more to go.
    I miss you.

    Better luck with the car key,
    Sliding in and turning easily into a motor’s grumble,
    The steering wheel keeps my palms steady
    and only the wrist and the elbow and the shoulder
    refuse to calm down.
    Modern cars...
    Why the hell did they build these airbags in?
    All I want is write, not worry about living.

    My nose is running loose,
    It is running loose for a few days already...
    ducts? what ducts? what eye ducts?
    Just the stupid running nose, nothing to do with eyes
    I snort angrily and wipe it against my sleeve
    Transposed for a few moments to a childhood
    where all I had was a dirty rag or a crumpled newspaper
    leaving black lead laden traces all over my face.
    I snort again, this time in disgust at my memory,
    at my dirty sleeve,
    Shift gears back into fifth, then back into sixth.

    Falling apart,
    My head a blob of coagulated splinters
    each pulling its own way
    and held together by a mere physical miracle
    another unnecessity which I found myself asking
    who the hell needed it or invented it?
    I tried last night several remedies,
    Aspirin, Optalgin, some other members of the ‘in clan
    and staying just short of Strychnine
    to sounds of clapping and wolf calls and cheers
    and hat throwing in my mind calling
    “go for it... go for it...
    live like a rat die like a rat...”
    I recognize some faces in the crowd,
    Not many, some of them mine...
    “later, later...” I promise
    Bowing to my public,
    Knowing I have some more ‘ins to try
    before bowing to popular demand and appeal,
    Outcast freaks like huggin, kissin, lovin...
    Hey, snowing again,
    Shall I try slippin, slidin?

    I chuckle, not unlike a madman,
    Laying for a short moment the pen and paper
    on the passenger seat
    and moving through the fifth into the fourth gear.
    I hate wipers.
    I turn them off trying to imagine what it would be like
    for a blind man to be driving,
    Unfortunately the storm stays behind
    and my experiment rests unconcluded.
    Well, there will be other occasions.
    I chuckle again,
    Pulling into the office driveway
    And leaving my reality back inside the car
    till next time we meet.
    Probably tomorrow.
    I love you.




    I stopped dreaming,
    As if a guillotine’s blade descended
    Cleanly slicing off the relevant portion of my brain
    And my dreams are gone.
    No more nightly poison cleaners.
    How long can one live dreamlessly?
    I wonder...

    I look at the scattered scraps of paper on my desk
    Crumbs of dark poetry desecrating their immaculate whiteness,
    Poor man’s sanctuary,
    Not mine.
    Mine... it is my hope, I think...

    I close my eyes waiting for that liberating computer beep
    Telling me my dreams are back.




    no, I’m not the one to save you,
    not the fucking warrior
    in black armor, or white, whatever you choose to hate
    crocodile killers are only in the movies
    and dragons were my food when I was a kid
    and I stabbed them with my wooden knife.

    but I am the one to offer you to walk all over me
    if it cleans your shoes
    and scratch my eyes out if it allays your anger and fear
    and when tomorrow you are sorry
    I offer you pieces torn off me to auction
    to lowest bidder.

    and if then, one day, you need me
    just use your whistle
    and I will come leaping and yapping
    and biting left and right
    and growling mindlessly
    until you kick me away again
    because I tried too hard.
    till next time.

    because I am the one
    to love you beyond my mindless self
    and way beyond
    your ignorance of knowledge.




    I woke up from my nightmare with a shudder...
    Hey, puppy, puppy...
    I crawled heavily to my feet
    shaking my shaggy mane tip of muzzle to tip of tail,
    Loose hair chunks spraying all around me
    like a spring’s shower
    exposing once more the growing bald spots of skin,
    The colorless patches, the stains,
    The foliage of dry hair around me peppered with so much white...

    She was approaching,
    Her heels high, her walk brisk,
    Her long nyloned legs ending up after an infinite travel
    into something I imagined to be every human’s dream,
    Getting nearer my kennel,
    Hey, puppy, puppy...

    Something started rushing through my body,
    I was lost as to the human meaning of it
    and its name in human terms,
    I felt the thunder of winter clouds inside my ribs cage
    competing with those impotents up in the sky
    I stood up
    stiff turning limber
    atrophied muscles turning limestone hard
    I licked my fur to sun’s shine
    Kicked out of way the white lay of hair
    Pulled my dragging belly in
    dog turning hound turning beastly beauty,
    I started barking
    imitating to my best ability
    the sound humans seemed to love so much,
    Woof, Woof...
    readjusted my pitch,
    Wove, Wove... much better,
    The spark in my eyes seemed to catch her regard,
    She was looking straight at me...

    I started jumping like a circus clown,
    Made one backwards flip,
    then two,
    no dog ever did that, ever,
    Then the impossible two forward flips
    followed by a half screw left
    landing on my fours
    straight, tall, proud,
    My tail a cyclone of canine majesty...

    I saw the dragon approaching her feet,
    silent, deadly,
    sprinted forward and ripped it to pieces
    tail to forked tongue
    laying the smoldering leftovers at her feet
    in adoration,
    I saw the lion sprinting,
    I met him half way and battled him to death
    right there, in front of her
    pride oozing red from my veins
    as I lay the deadly carcass at her feet
    in adulation,
    She stepped over...
    Puppy, puppy...

    Wove, Wove... I answered enthusiastically
    rushing to the nearest field
    clamping down on a bunch of roses with my muzzle
    and tearing it off
    ground and roots and dirt and all
    galloping back to my kennel where I lay them on her path
    waiting for her to tread upon them,
    crush them into fragrant beauty
    as she kneels next to me and pats my head,
    Puppy, puppy...

    She crushed the roses,
    Passed my wagging figure
    patting me pityingly on the head en passant
    Looking straight through me at the kennel behind
    where she stopped and stooped
    and let the three month old slick Doberman
    jump all over her
    licking and slobbering and yapping disgustingly
    as they started rolling one around the other
    in the tall wet grass,
    Puppy, puppy...

    I slouched back into my behumbled position,
    After dragging the dragon’s leftovers and the lion’s carcass
    out of way,
    Scrapping the ground clean with my paw
    Licking it with my tongue,
    I did not care for my wounds.
    After all I was not just doing my duty,
    There was something in the sound of this bark
    which I finally succeeded to pronounce correctly
    which was pulling at the strings of my aging heart.
    Funny, I never thought in terms of aging heart till now
    as I let my belly hang back down
    my bald spots pushing out again
    my fur dulling
    my spine broken, no more flips for me.

    Next human who pats me I rip his hand off.

    I started closing bleary eyes
    watching wearily the two shapes
    rolling and rolling and rolling
    down the sunny side of the mountain
    in a storm of flailing arms and legs and paws
    and howls and laughter
    The last sight
    the vigorous slash of a strong shiny tail stump.

    I shivered in my sleep, running aimlessly,
    Poison oozing out steadily from the thorn stuck in my tongue
    invading my mind with human nightmares...
    numbers followed by millimeters
    mixing up with shifting gears and bending posts
    and noise and sirens and rubble and splintering bones...
    Papy, papy...
    Me and my damn French, I thought
    passing thankfully into the bliss of unconsciousness and


    It was snowing heavily. I was not even aware I was writing this, except for those short glimmers of consciousness when instinct had to kick in to get the crazily careening car back into the single cleared highway lane. Now I read these lines and cannot keep from wondering... why the hell was I cursed with instincts?

    I hope it is snowing when I drive back.




    When one bright and sunny morning
    not a cloud to call the warning
    Dies the lilac, dies the daisy,
    wilts the rose in rhymeless mourning.

    There, beyond the garden’s towers
    lost and scared one whisper cowers
    Once so bold, now weak and hazy
    breathing in the dust of flowers.

    Under creepers lame and hoary
    knowing not of lovers’ story,
    One coyote old and crazy
    howls his pain in lonesome glory.




    The twenty inch pounders
    drop their lethal shells
    zeroing into my body
    silent wave, after silent wave, after silent wave...
    ripping my brain to shreds and my shreds to crumbs,
    and my crumbs to...
    is there anything left after crumbs except...

    I let pieces of sanity drift away,
    those still untouched by the heavy barrage
    looking for hideouts in undisclosed places
    hibernating in timid hopes of renewal.
    Maybe peace comes nevertheless?
    When thunder conquers my world anew
    And laughter ripples through skin
    And words crawl the long miles climbing my beaches...

    Oh, let me lose this war again...



Before Or After

    I have never been in love,
    before or after.

    “After?” you challenge my saying,
    Razor sharp eyes cutting through fingers
    crushed against your lips.
    “You don’t challenge ‘before’...” I wonder.
    “I know ‘before’,” you bite,
    Tooth marks fencing the cuts
    like barbed wire protecting a well of flowing gold
    sprinting to red life with each heart pound,
    Poppy petals sprouting on your cheeks
    around freckle hearts
    moments before breaking down into washed out pastels
    sliding down long worn out tear tracks.
    “I know there was no ‘before’,
    No before us,
    I know by now.
    I don’t know about ‘after’.”

    “What about ‘after’ death?” I ask nonchalantly
    licking the liquefied poppy petals from your lips.
    A smiling question mark hiding a contorted vision.
    “You just accepted the ‘before’,”
    I insist.
    “After death there is nothing,”
    You hesitate, wishing to be contradicted.
    “After death there is forever,”
    I contradict.
    “Unchangeable, invincible,
    Frozen into eternity

    I will never be in love,
    before or after.




    You are beautiful, I said.
    The most beautiful woman in the world.
    I heard a depreciative snort on the other side
    As a nose blew its monosounding fanfare
    right into my ear.
    Yeah, you would not think so if you saw me right now,
    Red nose, watery eyes under a flailing hair worthy of the Medusa,
    Pyjamas three times my size
    gobbled by shrieking colors
    And padded jumbo size pantofles
    with rolling eyes and Disney copyrighted characters.

    I could see you clearly, unknown to you,
    My eyes closed,
    The red nose, the watery eyes and disarrayed hair,
    The pyjamas... peeking inside... sorry...
    The clown pantofles warming your toes...
    You are beautiful, I obstinately repeated myself,
    You are a painting by Michelangelo
    A mirage under a starry desert sky
    The embodiment of my... kismet.

    Then another sequence of nose blowing, coughing,
    Mottled tissue paper finding its way into a waste basket,
    You are lucky you look only at my face... giggle...
    Turn your eyes up to my hair and you turn stone.
    I turn my eyes up to your hair,
    Touch myself... hey, still soft and fleshy and warm,
    Hey, I scream into the mouthpiece, I just did,
    Do you hear pebbles rolling or love sprouting?...
    Even no sniffles anymore.
    You know what I mean, you know me,
    But you are as obstinate as I am.
    Maybe even a bit more.
    Just maybe, let’s not overstretch it.

    I don’t think Mickey ever painted a red nose,
    I’ve checked carefully the whole of the Capella Sistina,
    True, some voluptuous ladies up there are competing with me
    but all of them have powdered noses.

    He did not know you, I pound on.
    That’s why.
    Do you love Michelangelo? I ask, an irrepressible question
    out of the nowhere of self inflicted jealousy.
    There is no hesitation in your answer.
    No, I do not love Michelangelo,
    You silly butt,

    And it is clear you expect the following question.
    I ask it.
    Do you love me?

    A low flying airplane deafens me for a few seconds,
    Maybe you answered, maybe not,
    I don’t know
    And once the quiet returns
    I am afraid to repeat my question,
    I wait.
    A few short beeps tell me my battery is about to end,
    Please, please answer, I pray to whoever is on duty,
    A few cackles on the line making me jump,
    No... still quiet.
    The beeps repeat themselves. Also the cackles.
    I freeze...
    No...body ever called me ‘kismet’ before...
    The sentence finally comes through
    and a long continuous beep messages the end of the phone’s life.

    I push the off button, just for its symbolical value,
    And drop the cell phone into my pocket.
    I guess that now I know.
    The most beautiful woman in the world...
    Red nosed, watery eyed under a Medusa hair
    Oversized pyjamas and jumbo pantofles...
    I wish I was there to simply admire her absolute beauty.
    She loves me.
    I love you.



The Conspiracy Theory

    I talk to you,
    watching worriedly the rotating needles
    counting backwards the time still available to us,
    clockwise paradoxically metamorphosing in my mind
    into a four-lettered word
    moving from dirty to dirtier to obscene.
    I try the digital display... hoping... in vain...
    Clockwise thus redefined into a seven segments display game
    The numbers moving inexorably up
    As the leftovers dwindle from plentiful to nothingful
    giving additional impetus to the conspiracy theory
    claiming that forever is an invention of lovers
    same as never
    and the only reality is the limited size of an allotted time-slot
    at the end of which
    nothing rules.

    I feel tempted, the half pound hammer in my hand,
    I look around... then decide against it.
    After all there is another time piece next room,
    And another one on my wrist, and one your side of the world,
    And thousands more.
    “I love you, whatever they may say,” I shout in desperation
    “Conspiracy theory or fact
    my forever is never going to...
    never is forever... aarrgh... my nothing is nothing...
    the constipacy theory...”
    I choke, I start coughing spitting like an enraged tomcat
    Losing the thread to my words,
    I turn red like a beet soaked in red dye seen through a red screen
    Thoughts whirling around my eyes
    before settling on a three times knotted tongue
    and then swirling further...
    I had never stuttered before... I have to say it,
    She has to know, I have to say it...
    “I know...” she says, after joining her laughter
    and sneezes and snorts and guffaws
    to my sputter and shuffle and hiccups...
    “I know,” she says and I finally catch my breath and calm down.
    “I know.” A third time, final.
    “The conspiracy theory never heard of... us.”

    So simple.
    You are a genius I feel like saying, but I don’t,
    Knowing anything I say would just deprecate
    the uniqueness of the moment,
    I just listen to the silence.
    The words do not have to be said.
    Forever. Never. Nothing.
    They may mean so many things to so many people.
    They mean just one thing to us.
    Forever. Never. Everything.



There Never Was

    There never was, there never will...
    The canvas slides beneath my quill
    My fingers trace a screaming line
    Along your spine.

    There never rose, there never set...
    Delights your skin cannot forget
    My lips assail your dripping vine
    And sip your wine.

    There never lived, there never died...
    In sinful flesh a love we ride
    Two bodies paint in passion’s art
    One single heart.

    There never will, there never was...
    Inside the vise of ripping jaws
    A tender nipple pours its song
    Three eons long.

    There never set, there never rose...
    Beneath my palm your flower grows
    Long roots a quilt around me weave
    To never leave.

    There never died, there never lived...
    If of my days I be bereaved
    I’ll take beyond the only hue
    Of loving you.




    Let’s make love, let killer maybe’s
    Be tomorrow’s unborn babies
    Let us pull a heavy curtain
    On the stage playing uncertain
    Let suspire
    And desire
    Be your smile’s undying quire,
    Shove the sorrow
    Through tomorrow
    As a heap of sun we borrow.

    Sir of words of meaning hidden
    Through my mind of question ridden
    Roams the craving unrelenting
    Burns the passion unrepenting
    Yet the needle
    Of your riddle
    Hurts from head and past the middle,
    Senses spinning
    Tell me meaning
    While from doubts my mind be weaning.

    Lady sweet of flowers many
    And of loveliness uncanny
    All tomorrows be forgotten
    Till the world be unbegotten
    Love unending
    Gardens tending
    Gentle fingers armors rending,
    Flaming ever
    Daunting never
    And consuming hell forever.


    We were sitting on the floor, naked, a soft linen quilt underneath us – an intricate Teutonic design repeating itself around us, her knees around my middle, chest to chest, our heads leaning on each other’s left shoulder, eyes closed.

    “Yes, hell. Beautiful fire flowers blooming incessantly inside a shower of red sparks...”

    “Hell has a bad connotation.” Her fingers started moving downwards counting the vertebrae on my back, I heard her mutter softly... one... two...

    “Hey, this is a long word.” I returned the favor and started counting the bony protuberances on her back in the opposite direction. “People use hell also in a positive connotation... if to use your long word. Like in ‘love as hot as hell’. A simple oxymoron.”

    “Now who’s using long words? And this is not really an oxymoron.” Her hand reached my waist line and started moving towards the front of my body. I started losing my concentration.

    “You are right,” I agreed, not in the mood for a fight and she was right anyway. My hand followed her example and started advancing towards her breast.

    We touched.

    “Rhyme me a poem,” she sang, forgetting to breathe.

    “Now?” I asked hoarsely.


    Before or after?”


    I loved her to death. She could have asked me to put a bullet through my head and I would have put two... no, you wouldn’t, you would be dead after the first one... she whispered. She could have asked me to cut my right arm and I would have cut both... no, you wouldn’t, you would not have any arm to cut the other one with... She could have asked me to rhyme her one poem and I would have rhymed her two... no, one would be enough for now... She could have asked me to leave her... no, never...

    I felt the hot tear drilling a hollow shaft into my shoulder. I love you, I whispered back.

    Let’s make love, let senses smitten
    By those thousand rhymes unwritten
    Hang to flaming tails of lions
    Chasing skywards dandelions
    Crashing seven
    Then eleven
    Laying waste a gateless heaven
    Bodies flaunting
    Touches taunting
    And that scream divinely haunting.




    Look into my eyes,
    Yes, look, right there!
    What do you see?... no, look again!
    Not the color, not the anger, not the wrinkles damn them
    paving a hobbly way to the approaching passage...
    All these irrelevancies so irrelevant...
    You see it, yes you do,
    For what it is and for what it promises
    in its naked wordy stumbling way,
    Yes you do if you close your eyes and see inside
    into the reality, my reality, the only one which counts
    for me
    and I wish to make count for you
    even if it may be last in line –
    Love!!! woman,
    Love, unending, undying, real,
    as real in your life as your kids.

    There is a hand here to catch you
    A heart to lie under your feet
    and absorb the sharpness of pebbles
    and the weight of your life
    A love to cushion your doubts
    and share your pains

    A friend. Always.

    Look into my eyes,
    Open your eyes wide and... let me be unoriginal...
    Let the sunshine in!

    I love you.



Let’s Not Make Love

    Lean against me,
    Let’s not make love.

    The sharp point of your elbow
    against the soft ply of my arm,
    Your right elbow,
    Our wrists touching...
    No, I don’t twine fingers
    I simply let my palm’s inner soft
    hover against your knuckles hard,
    Do you feel the heartbeat in my fingers?

    My left arm surrounding your stomach
    My palm warm against your flesh warm
    And soft,
    Imagining a stretching of skin
    and a kicking tiny foot
    which I will never feel
    inside of you,

    How did I miss you?
    when we could.

    Your left palm soft against my knuckles hard
    emulating me,
    Reading my thoughts
    inside your life line,
    Pushing my palm deeper into your belly
    sinking my pain into your flesh
    your hand clasping and following deeper into you,
    You know,
    This is my

    Easing away...
    the pain gone,
    For now.

    My chin in the nook of your shoulder
    My cheek against your neck,
    Now I feel your heartbeat
    making my teeth chatter,
    I don’t kiss you
    I just want to feel you.

    Let’s not make love,
    Just let me feel your elbow,
    Your belly,
    Your neck,
    And imagine... life.




    I passed through them
    Rivers of fragmented rock
    pour behind me
    The din fragmenting my mind never stopping me.
    I cut through them
    Tree splinters left and right
    strike with sharp wooden stakes
    The lashes splintering my mind never able to hold me.
    I reached you in bewonderment
    and halted
    Kneeled in front of you and made the dust at your feet my nest
    and your words my nourishment.
    Love, please teach me Love...



One Of Those ...Do You Remember?’s

    Assailing me,
    One of those memories
    never to find their way into the Hall of Fame
    of any nation
    or lover
    Suddenly intruding upon my privacy
    and demanding a place of honor
    in the glass paneled trophies cabinet
    alongside the green, and the red, and the freckles and the music
    and that damn special laughing sound which you know I love
    because it is so uniquely you...

    The banality of a queue in a supermarket,
    Your hand throwing into the trolley juice bottles
    and corn flakes and cosmetics and snacks
    and I don’t pay attention because I am busy chasing you
    my hand in your trousers’ back pocket
    Afraid... maybe wishing the tornado of your motion
    rips it off at shoulder and leaves it forever there,
    So far away from your skin, yet so close.

    Queuing up at the cashier’s desk,
    Crawling forward,
    I feel the muscles pushing against my palm
    rippling as you take the next step
    Warmth flowing both ways
    The cloth almost tearing at the seam
    yet you don’t ask me to take my hand out,
    Not even when you throw the stuff from the rolling band
    back into the trolley
    Not when the cashier lady breaks into a huge knowledgeable smile
    digging itself deeper into her face as you struggle with the money
    yet you don’t ask me to take my hand out.

    Life bouncing on the way to the car,
    Squeezing as you bend to carry the bags in
    Softening as you turn around and kiss me under the broken neon sign
    all letters vandalized by stone snipers except for the blinking leftovers
    stupidly claiming ...ART ...ART ...ART.
    I know what they are telling me at least,
    ...HEART ...HEART ...HEART
    as I compose the missing puzzle
    and you nod your mute agreement.

    Or do they simply mean to be left as is
    branding into my mind the memory of your kiss’s... ART?

    I motion the memory in
    watching it glide, settle contentedly alongside the others
    and falling asleep.
    What it does not know and I do not tell
    is that it was always there.
    I just pulled it out for a second wrapping myself into it
    and letting myself slip back in time for one night’s span.
    Now it is back
    in the glass paneled trophies cabinet
    alongside the green, and the red, and the freckles and the music
    and that damn special laughing sound which you know I love
    because it is so uniquely you...



One Of Those ...Will You Remember?’s

    The moment to come,
    When the universe ceases to exist for a fraction of everness
    All molecular motion frozen
    Entropy finally reached,
    And the only bubble of other reality
    Those two bodies moving towards each other
    in illustrious isolation and uniqueness of purpose
    Reaching towards each other
    Reaching each other
    And fingers reaching for hearts through spines
    pierced by fingernails driven mad with want and wait.

    As our bodies disembrace and our mouths disentangle
    We let fingertips paint on lips
    The color of blood borrowed from exploded hearts
    Before the universe shakes off from its moment
    of lost evolution
    And entropy crawls back into university’s tomes
    And noise and smells and vibrations
    conquer our immediate vicinity
    And life is viciously back on its trail to perdition.

    I missed you, I whisper to the bundle of feminine flesh
    who insists carrying my hundred pounds heavy suitcase.
    I did not, she answers and her arm around me
    cuts my waist’s thickness to ring size,
    I did not, you were always here, she completes the sentence
    as we step out of the airport’s bustling terminal
    into our life.
    I love you, you know? I repeat my most famous sentence
    in my famously limited vocabulary.
    No, I don’t, she answers
    and my waist cuts one size down,
    One more squeeze and there will be two detached halves of me.
    No, I don’t, teach me, she completes the sequence
    And we both know that the memory to come
    will survive universe’s final death
    and molecular freeze
    and entropy finally reached.



Make Love To Me

    Make love to me,
    And let the sting
    of seven lashes rouse my spring...

    Your body,
    Wrapped ten layers around me
    and still wrapping
    You finished rolling yourself around my legs
    Now you are busy with my abdominal muscles
    moving upwards towards my ridiculous nipples
    reacting like yours should... and do...
    My neck disappears inside your layers of skin
    and flesh and love
    And finally
    Leftovers of bone and curling red hair
    knot themselves above my skull
    leaving me swathed powerless... willing...
    hopelessly wishing for more of the same...

    Make love to me,
    Allay those fears
    concealed in question clothed cheers...

    Voices sing in quadraphonic resonance
    as pockets of skin and hair
    open up
    Accommodating colonies of colorless birds
    absorbing the myriad sun kisses from your skin
    and the countless fire sparks of your hair
    Their feathers soaking majesty
    ready for the festivities of the most glorious
    of euphonical cacophonies
    when your voice joins in
    And tribute is paid to Apollo
    as he listens and obligingly
    shoots his silver arrow through my heart
    leaving a glinting trail for
    your accords
    to cuddle in
    and hang love grapes all the way to the bleeding exit wound...

    Make love to me,
    Lay music grooves
    inside my flesh for lover’s hooves...

    I see your heart
    resting just behind mine
    the arrow having pierced both
    before burning itself to ashes on its way out...
    Pieces of bone,
    Feathers and tunes,
    The Hanging Gardens of Babylon
    spun between the crevasses of severed arteries
    and as you start unrolling and unwinding
    and unwrapping
    from around me
    The lithe snake of our common unweaving undulating flesh
    waves itself into the fabric of thoughts
    and heroic tales
    and the most tender of the simplest of wishes of single moments...

    Make love to me,
    Incise my will
    and let your love defend my quill...




          Love me like you wake up morning,
    Watch the glinting blob of slime
    My entreating eyes adorning
    When you say... till end of time...

          Crave me like you blink unwary,
    Hear the cackle in my chest
    Swallows bustling in the eyrie
    When you whisper... that’s my nest...

          Kiss me like you squint in sunshine,
    Lick the sweat in settling dust
    Taste the grape inside my love’s brine
    When you scream... now reap my lust...

          Kill me like you pant past labor,
    Cut my vein till gurgling mud
    Paints a flower on the saber
    When you swear... my life, my blood...



Love Crystals

    Following your traces on the desert stone,
    Invisible indentations
    I feel them nearing my cheek to the ground
    and sensing the heat emanating from incandescent crumbs
    having peeled off the stone’s face
    under your tread.
    I wonder... how would I have followed you
    if civilization would have clad dressing
    to the bareness of your soles?

    I love you.

    I see a parallel path running right next to yours
    and ahead of me,
    Undeniable prairie dogs dumplings
    disconsiderate of any ecological imbalance
    seeding a track along with a... wild hog’s track?...
    a wild hog in the desert?...
    the thought stupidly flashes through my mind
    before I blink
    and my eye stays closed for more than the classical moment
    as a vision of sun burned naked skin
    under a tapestry of scratches
    mounts from ankles along thighs around breasts
    up to a tuft of disarrayed flaming hair
    framing a mouth dripping pieces of apple and wild berry
    and honey drops
    behind it
    and an army of prairie dogs and wild hogs
    and raccoons and rabbits and burrowing owls
    follows nibbling and skidding and barking sunset songs
    to the disbelieving spirits
    guiding your way.

    I catch up with you,
    Opening my eyes to the reality inside the vision,
    Wondering what is which,
    Till that one moment when your naked skin creases at waist
    and soft mounds of flesh stretch solid
    and you crouch next to an egg shaped stone
    hugging it like hugging a baby
    And as the army of following beasts surrounds you
    you crack it smoothly open
    and crystals start pouring in a scarlet and amber and sunshine
    and skylight and jade and chameleon sparkling flood
    inside the furs
    and the feathers
    and the skin
    and your eyes...

    The little army sparkles forward
    the queen in their midst
    stars dropping behind marking my way to a place unknown
    There where one day you will stop
    and wait for me
    and let me nibble and chew and drink same like all others,
    for as long as there are crystals in stones.

    No, you will get more, you trill,
    allowing me to near your lips and glean rare drops of nectar
    before evaporating unknown.
    What are these? I ask in wonder, unsatiated.
    Love crystals, you answer,
    stretch your feet and start walking again.

    I bet we look ridiculous together,
    You walking
    with me hanging on to your mouth
    like a young hummingbird
    painted at the corner of your lips.



Touch Me

    Touch me, play me raw and tender
    Be the rogue and vile offender
    Pouring flames into my mouth
    Perfumes crude and most uncouth
    Soft lavender.

    Leave your scruples unbegotten
    Paint me flavors sweetly rotten
    Sinking teeth divinely mean
    Dipped in promises of sin

    Turn my body bleeding quarry
    Way beyond the sooth of sorry
    Tearing clumps of craving flesh
    As I slump to earth and thresh
    Screaming glory.



Do I Miss You?

    Do I miss you?
    If I say
    That beneath the blast of day
    Twenty layers wool beclothed
    Shiver memories betrothed
          With a stroll inside the park
          With a poem carved in bark
          With a kiss upon a bench
          With the girl inside the wench?...

    Do I miss you?
    If the plight
    Of an endless starless night
    Tells of thoughts beyond dimension
    Lost in pale incomprehension
          About music way off key
          About iceberg ridden tea
          About one and thousand mile
          About woman in the smile?...

    Do I miss you?
    No, I don’t,
          And no sun has ever shone...



Cock Tail

    I leave my shirt hanging on your gate’s pole
    tearing pieces of it
    then running around your fence
    and sticking them on its spikes
    like flags
    of what was once me and now

    I unbuckle my belt and drop it on the path to your door
    like a harmless cockatrice
    letting your dog playfully pull my trousers down
    and losing them to battling sounds
    of cocks and cockateels and cockatoos
    chasing away the dog for the dubious pleasure
    of swallowing my shiny nickels
    and copper buttons
    and the broken zipper carried away in dangling triumph
    by the clumsy ostrich spinster.

    My shoes and socks float in the river
    fishes jumping above them
    as my underwear joins shortly after
    to cheers of drifting snow
    and beggars singing arias from Rigoletto
    jazz style.

    Proud in my belly button and age creases
    and steel muscles which could snap a dinosaur’s spine
    masked by flabby pieces of flesh
    hanging loose on bones
    competing with your gate’s poles
    and my shirt’s leftover pennons
    The insolence of skin beguiling onlookers by dressing goose bumps
    starting at my tiny nipples and spreading all the way
    up to my bold top and down to my bare toes
    The pride in my finger insisting on your door bell
    until the gates to life open
    and you appear there majestic in your unflinching serenity
    asking to my want
    unseeing of my nakedness and foolishness and dauntlessness.

    I wait,
    with the cocks and cockateels and cockatoos
    and even the ostrich spinster seems to have frozen
    in its ridiculous posture
    a black shoe lace having added itself to the zipper
    in its beak or mouth or muzzle,
    You don’t hesitate
    You evaluate.
    You decide.

    A horrible sound as a comet changes course
    and crashes into the sun
    sending long undulating tongues flaming towards us
    Your decision taken
    you incinerate your layers of clothing
    outer blue inner red your skin a green inferno
    fanning out and enveloping me engulfing me
    engorging me
    my skin sliding in between your peeling skin and your boiling flesh
    we turn one single entity maturating
    into temerity of desire
    riding absoluteness of love.

    My belt suddenly bellows
    The cockatrice finally emerging into reality
    gathering in its coils
    cocks and cockateels and cockatoos
    and even the ridiculous ostrich spinster
    then rolling itself in the fire consuming the human lovers
    it shoots for the skies
    where it swallows flames and comet and sun
    and all that is left
    is ovations sang by dying planets
    for young undying us...

    We never woke up.



Moments Ago

    My palm slides to the other side of the bed,
    Tracing the warm indentation
    which moments ago embraced your body,
    A thin fragrance emanating as the ravenous linen
    finally concedes the reality of the laws of physics
    and reconciles with the room’s stagnant air
    releasing tiny molecules of you.
    Just moments ago your pores fed bits of carnal matter
    into the linen’s texture,
    Now it all dissipates with the heat, the sweat,
    the memory of sighs.

    I hear sounds
    Refusing to let them sink beyond the primeval fears
    of my skin,
    The rustle of a pair of panties rubbing against the thorns
    of an imperfectly shaved thigh
    The snap of a bra’s clip
    The slithering sound of shoelaces
    pulling tight against a foot
    which moments ago kicked the bed’s head board
    into a thousand splinters...
    The hand grabbing the door’s handle, hesitating...
    Feels like years ago
    when we made love into an art
    as abstract as a flame’s shape pouring up from the pits of hell...

    Moments ago...
    Are the same thoughts hammering their way into your head
    When the partly opened door finally clicks shut
    with you still on the inside
    And I hear the sounds in reverse
    Shoelaces sliding out, a bra snapping open,
    Panties impatiently torn into fist size shreds
    with threads dangling loosely long corrupted seam lines
    As you conquer back the indentation just liberated
    And I conquer back the body just untrussed
    And the sigh conquers scream shape again
    Just like...
    Moments ago.

    And when we wake up,
    Years later,
    It all looks as fresh
    and as beautiful
    as you looked
    moments ago.



Night Sky

    At the top of the mountain,
    Lying on our back,
    You snuggle against me
    seeking consolation inside my jacket against the cool air,
    The dragon inside you flaring your nostrils
    and letting steam bursts dissipate against my cheek
    burning the tips of my stubble.

    I reach up with my left hand
    and glean a handful of stars,
    Part of the Milky Way, the full Ursa Major
    and some of the Ursa Minor
    leaving behind a dark uneven trail
    Then open my palm against your face
    and blow my harvest into your eyes...
    Oh, the billion and one glimmers of beauty
    in that dark green sky...

    Another glimmer joins the rest,
    a damp reflection rolling down your cheek...
    Why do you cry? I ask.

    Now lovers won’t have a path
    and sailors won’t have guidance
    and wolves will howl to a dark empty hole...

    You say.
    Then you approach your mouth to my left eye,
    kiss it,
    and after looking apologetically at me you turn your face up
    and spit powerfully a stream of sparks
    which settles back into the liberated spots
    above the thin clouds
    renewing the beauty of chaos as if nothing ever happened.

    How did you do it? I ask, magic?

    I did not ask you, did I? you answer, satisfied at your deed,
    Then resume your hand’s journey inside my shirt
    as the dragon returns to its puffing wisps.

    A few snowflakes taste my cheek,
    finally choosing yours to melt on.
    Then the quiet. The magic. The white blanket around us.
    You may have won this round, I think sleepily
    Yet not fully, I add loudly
    Watching the night sky twinkling forgotten
    in its twin green universe called
    your eye.



After All...

    You remind me of Shiva,
    A bit on the voluptuous side,
    You sit cross legged in the middle of the flowers bed
    Palms upturned at the sides of your shoulders
    The left one a bit higher up... damn arthritis...
    The two uneven mounds of mixed grains and sunflower seeds
    and honey cornflakes with crumbs of milk chocolate
    A source of unending frolic for a pair of mourning doves
    attacking the left mound
    And a mix of swallows and bay breasted warblers and finches
    bathing their beaks inside the richness of the right one
    and flying merry go round in and out
    of the heavenly mix.
    My eyes rest fixed on your mouth,
    A crushed cherry held between your lips
    red juice slavering down your chin
    And a trio of invisibly winged hummingbirds
    diving with watchmaker’s precision
    into the flesh of the melting fruit,
    Their buzzing drone the only sound up and down
    the sleeping street.
    Oh... I almost missed the family of tiny prairie dogs
    jumping in and out the water filled bowl
    placed strategically between your knees.

    I shake my head.
    The mirage does not fade away though I insist,
    And I feel sorry for the poor crow perched alone on a nearby branch
    away from the fun and the food and the music.

    I open my shirt and sit in front of you
    nodding to the crow invitingly,
    After all none of the other creatures is interested in me.
    After a short hesitation it flies in
    and with the strong corn of its nails starts ripping my chest’s skin
    till it passes my flesh
    and uncovers my ribs
    finally squeezing in, content, next to my heart.
    “What are you doing?” you open your eyes in wonder,
    The circus around your head and between your knees never halting.
    “Letting the poor raven in,” I answer
    mimicking her upturned palms
    and collecting just a few droppings from a passing quail.
    “This is a crow,” you retort
    closing your eyes again.
    “He claims he is a raven, he quoted passages from Poe,” I insist.
    “You are silly, crows don’t talk,” you insist at your turn.
    “Neither do hummingbirds feast at a cherry held between your lips,”
    is my scientifically accurate answer.
    “This is a fact,” you say.
    “So is this raven.”

    You do not seem to move, to shrink, to bend.
    Somehow you float over towards me,
    wriggle, squeeze, and penetrate between my ribs
    Birds and prairie dogs never leaving you for a moment
    and the only concession you make to the now crowded place
    is lay your ear against my heart.
    Oh, yes, you also leave the water bowl outside.
    Are you listening to my music or am I listening to yours?...

    The crow does not like the sudden neighborly invasion.
    It flies out and perches on the oscillating swing
    scratching its wing with its beak.
    “Crazy humans, what kind of a world is that,
    I am a raven
    Quoth the Raven Nevermore.
    Then it leaves for a cemetery and never returns.

    “See, I told you,” I tell you.
    “OK, probably a vision,” you answer
    from the depths of my chest,
    The palms still up,
    The mounds smaller
    And you start sipping the nectar from my heart’s left chamber.
    Well, you do not fly out hummingbird-wise
    pouting your lips
    to do it.
    After all
    this is not some fairy tale.



The Poem

    Thousand words poem,
    Anybody can write it,
    A kid can write it,
    A computer...”
    She was teasing me, I knew,
    Nobody could write her my kind of poems.
    True, they came relatively easy,
    and fast,
    A flashing thought of her and inspiration was all over me
    and just one driving session to work
    and a few negotiated
    (successfully, else I wouldn’t be writing this)
    lampposts later, et voila,
    a new flower for her overflowing memories album.
    You have to buy some new pages to your memory
    else you’ll have to squeeze everything else out
    just to fit all of me in,

    I used to tease her
    And her terrible punishment would not be late to follow...
    Twenty seven times in one single night.
    No wonder I lost fifteen pounds in one week...

    “Challenge me?” I dared her,
    Cocksure, pretentious, conceited.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes, I am,” puffing my chest turkey size.
    “OK, then...” smirk? hesitation?
    “...write me the most beautiful, amazing, thrilling poem ever...”
    My mouth’s corners reaching into a knot above my head... so easy...
    “...one word long.”
    The same mouth corners now dropping underneath my chin
    and tying a new knot there
    right under my bobbing up and down Adam’s apple.
    “One word?”
    “Beautiful, amazing, thrilling?...”
    “Yes. Oh, and I will make it a bit easier for you...”
    “Yes...” hopeful, my tail thrashing...
    “...and mesmerizing.”
    ...the tail swiftly back in between my legs.
    And mesmerizing?...”
    “Yes. Easy, isn’t it?”

    It took me nine days.
    Three times three.
    Never before.
    Yes, sometimes I was busy with those long winded rhymies
    that could take even fifteen days,
    Chasing dictionaries, internet,
    Fifteen gross. Never nine net.

    Nine days later and not even one additional lamppost event
    I gave her a sheet of paper, folded in four.
    It was incomplete,
    True, I had it ready after a mere three days, ha,
    But we were nine days later now and it was still incomplete.
    I told her so.
    She looked up at me
    “You have your one word poem
    nine days later
    and it is still incomplete?”
    First mirthful. Then worried.
    “Are you serious?”
    I returned her regard, miserable,
    my beaten dog flapping ears hanging loose at the sides of my head.
    Still, it is a good poem,
    It fulfills all your criteria.
    But... incomplete. Sorry.”
    Any sign of mockery disappeared from her eyes,
    She unfolded it once.
    “Wait,” I said.
    “Don’t read it out loud,
    It will completely change its meaning if you do.”
    “It must be one hell of an incomplete poem you wrote in one word,”
    She said,
    Taking one step back and unfolding it the second time.
    She knew of my dementia.
    I guess she couldn’t be sure it did not hit a higher notch.

    There it was,
    In all its majesty,
    My one word beautiful, amazing, thrilling poem...
    Oh, yes, and mesmerizing.
    She looked at it for one full hour,
    Reading and re-reading and then re-re-reading
    the one word gloriously decorating the middle of the fold...

    Drip, drip, drip, dropped her tears.
    Finally, I sighed, happiest than ever. Finished.
    “Thank you,” I said.
    “For what?” she asked, uncertain.
    “For punctuation.”



A Daisy In Winter?...

    or Punctuation Marks

    And as I was drifting away to sleep
    Old Mount Everest started curving the white nape of its neck
    bowing its head towards an ever bulging belly
    And then, when it finally reached that impossible shape
    It lifted itself in one supreme effort
    to rest upon that gigantic round rock
    sculpted in place by my questioning imagination.

    And as I was drifting away back into my day
    A figure emerged from my dissipating dream
    Puny, tiny, sturdy,
    And with a grimace turning grin on her face
    Pitted her back against that monstrous round boulder
    And with one single heave shoved it out of way
    Letting a surprised Everest fall back onto its stony pedestal
    Its head jumping back up straight
    The terrible quake moving Earth one mile away
    from its lifelong orbit.

    I looked at her as she winked
    and was about to soak back into my chest,
    Red of hair, rude of mouth, beautiful...
    “Hey, what did you just do?” I called out
    Just as one of her legs started dissipating inside me.
    “I just changed your friggin’ question mark
    into one friggin’ exclamation mark,”
    she answered,
    Her other leg and half of her belly already absorbed.
    “Hurry up if you have any more silly questions,
    I have some friggin’ lovin’ to catch up with...”

    Half of her torso disappearing as well.
    “An exclamation mark?
    All I see is a huge mountain pillar
    There is no dot underneath it.”
    Her head was still out,
    One arm as well.
    She touched her mouth with one finger
    Then put it on my mouth
    Pulling it fast away before I had time to bite it,
    Then laughed shrilly.
    “Look underneath you.”
    I looked under the bed.
    “No, no, silly,
    Earth, the whole of the friggin’ Earth
    is the dot under the exclamation mark.
    Oh, and I left you a present...”

    Then she disappeared.

    I still heard some thumping inside my ribs cage,
    She was probably catching up with some laundry,
    hanging some pictures,
    Then finally I heard her sigh contentedly
    as she fell into an exhausted coma called sleep.

    I woke up.
    Peed, showered, shaved, ate, dressed,
    Maybe in a different order,
    Picked absent mindedly the daisy from my pillow...
    ...a daisy in winter?...
    stuck it in my shirt’s buttonhole
    And got into the car.
    The blister on my lip bothered me less
    than the music which was blaring from inside my chest.
    I wonder, should I go to a psychologist or to a cardiologist?
    I murmured to myself,
    And a dissonant echo... those French cars... seemed to answer
    ...or simply accept the music.
    Well, I guess I will finally end up with a visit to the motorologist
    ...being a smartass poet, ha... ie garage,
    Something was definitely right with the echo in this car.

    I kissed the daisy and started driving
    disregarding the second blister now on my lip.



Just An Illusion

    In the desert of my need
    I saw you
    Far away, real,
    I crawled up to you
    I hung on to your skirt’s hem and pulled myself up
    Feeling your body underneath,
    Your warmth,
    Your reality of being.
    And then, when I tried to drink my life back from your lips
    And my arms hugged your body
    I fell through you.

    You were, after all, just an illusion.



The Theory Of Imperfect Imperfections

    To each their own.

    Waking up next to you.




    “Sorry, I have to do something gross,” you apologized
    And blew your nose.
    I blew my nose in empathy,
    Making a big show out of it
    and dropped the tissue in the same waste basket.
    You looked at me obliquely,
    uncertain if it was mockery or love.
    The bread knife slid from the loaf nicking your finger.
    You made a pouting face
    sucking the bleeding fingertip in your mouth.
    I took the same knife, chose the same spot
    and nicked my fingertip in the same manner
    Then took hold of your finger and put both in my mouth,
    licking the sore spots.
    Again that strange look,
    vampire? love?
    then some understanding started penetrating into it.

    It was when you were telling me about a world without toilet paper
    and I told you about a childhood of placebos
    going all the way from roughly sliced newspapers
    to industrial cardboard soaked in water
    that you finally asked me
    “It does not look like we’re having a duel... is it love?”

    I admired your political realism,
    I admired your literary acumen, your green eyes
    and some of your freckles, mainly the hidden ones...
    Some other things as well.
    But most of all I admired your intelligence
    though I could not concede.
    “You are sharp,” I said.
    “You mean intelligent.”
    I conceded.
    A big smile.
    “So it is love.”
    “No...” quizzical look... “it is life.”
    “Life is love.”
    “No, love is life.”
    You conceded only after I pinched you in a soft spot.
    “Yes.” Then “Are we having a duel?”
    “No, we are having love.”
    Oh, that inverse rainbow
    which suddenly shone between your lips.
    “Thank you,” I added.
    “For what?”
    “For life.”
    “For love...” you hastily covered my mouth
    as I was about to say it “... and life.”
    “Sharp,” I said.
    You decided to break the pattern.
    We made love.



Latin Nonsense

    Tell me of those words uncertain
    Hind your glinting eyelids curtain
    And I’ll strike memento mori
    With the stolen morning’s glory
    From your eye’s seraphic quarry.

    Share with me those questions churning
    In your cheeks red falter burning
    Ultima necat I’ll parry
    When your cheek my lips will marry
    Seeding sun inside your cherry.

    Ask me tales beyond your worry
    Depths your chest betraying flurry
    Join me carpe diem raving
    In your chest the beat engraving
    Our passion’s insane craving.




    Looking into the green landscape
    The storm having left damp traces of beauty insane
    Blinked away salt crystallizing into bi-dimensional sculptures
    devoid of height yet so rich of glitter
    as the river dies
    and white flowers remindful of inarticulate snowflakes
    paint a random tapestry on your cheek,
    The canvas to your heart
    stretching thin upon your cheekbone easel.

    You are beautiful.

    How many said it?
    Like the sand grains in your handful.
    How many said it every waking moment
    meaning every single intonation of vowel
    and inflection of sound?
    You are looking at him.

    I love you.

    I dip my right forefinger in my mouth
    And start wiping away the randomly shaped monolith
    from your cheek
    without asking permission.
    Permissions are not needed between us,
    We simply know.
    Then, when I finish the right cheek
    I move on to the left cheek
    As your finger in turn touches the moisture of my lips
    Ascertaining our reality
    By tasting it.

    You seem satisfied with the conclusion
    Since you smile
    Sucking your finger again
    And for an inebriating moment
    the green landscape plays havoc with my mind
    as it roves chameleon like through blue through grey
    then back to green.
    You know how you are doing it,
    You know how to do it,
    You accept my offer of ultimate adoration
    when you dip your right forefinger in your mouth
    And start wiping away the randomly shaped monolith
    from my cheek
    without asking permission.



Ribbon Wraps

    Pour your flowers nightingale,
    Scarlet ribbons grace your tail,
    Bid the playful sunrays in
    Sinking anchors in your skin
    And to dreamscapes setting sail.

          Nightingale? Me? With a tail? Uncertain smile.
          No, of course not. Just a lousy metaphor.
          Lousy metaphor? Me? No ribbons? Pout.
          Thin ice. I tried stepping on my toes
          forgetting that my weight remains the same.

    Slip into my dream gazelle,
    Three your ribbons one your bell,
    Watch this rhyming playful skunk
    In your fragrance getting drunk
    Building runes your love to tell.

          Gazelle? Me? With a bell? Uncertain smile.
          No, of course not. Lousy idea.
          Lousy idea? Me? No ribbons? Pout.
          The ice was certainly cracking under my feet,
          I was losing control
          watching the cracks run all the way to the shore.
          Nowhere to run.

    Girl of poems thousand score,
    Ribbons-dressed your reaching lore,
    Guide my hand through lover’s art
    As my words besiege your heart
    Till your lips turn bleeding sore.

          You seemed to contemplate.
          Girl? Me? With poems?
          I knew if I opened my mouth I would find a foot stuck into it.
          So I shut up.
          Icy water started seeping up through the cracks
          Licking already at my feet
          Just as a terrible splintering noise
          told me my next kingdom was going to be a frozen one.

          Her thumb and forefinger picked me up by her favorite ear,
          my right,
          And pulled me straight inside her robes.
          I cuddled inside her warmth barely hearing her mumble
          as to herself...
          Hmm... Lore? Art? Heart?...
          I kind of like the idea of tying it all in ribbons.

          And she started wrapping narrow scarlet ribbons around us.
          I dared, risking everything...
          And love?... I whispered from inside the cocoon.
          And love... I heard her echoing.
          I was saved,
          Her hand not for one moment stopping
          the ribbon wrapping motion
          around us.




    When we then meet,
    When we then kiss,

    Your lower lip hangs on leftovers of drooling flesh
    dangling down to your belly button
    Your teeth uprooted
    and splinters cascading down your throat
    My tongue invading your mouth and shooting down to your stomach
    boiling there in the hell
    of your yesterday’s pepperoni pizza leftovers
    and your love.

          When I then meet you,
          When I then kiss you,

          I suck your lungs into my mouth
          accumulated silica filling my mouth and cutting my lip to slivers
          I bite holes into your collapsing cheeks
          the sudden air rush freezing my teeth into exploding pellets
          My inviting throat sending over the snake of my tongue
          pulling yours away from its roots and sending it into the hell
          of my yesterday’s pepperoni pizza leftovers
          and my love.

    As you then give in,
    As you then lie naked underneath me,

    Your rib ends push backwards
    exiting along both sides of your spine
    Your breasts pulled behind my back
    nipples tied to each other in a triple sailors knot
    My one dragon army invading your boiling marshland
    deflagrating its way upwards
    until it meets the flaming rests of my tongue
    and your love.

          As I then give in,
          As I then lie naked underneath you,

          I lock my fingers behind your back squashing our ribs
          till sharp ends penetrate my locked arms piercing my wrists
          I stretch my breasts in an agony of giving
          nailing your body to mine inside an unbreakable bond of flesh
          My inviting lair radiating my femininity pheromones
          luring the beast to the devastating landscape of carnage
          of the flaming rests of your tongue
          and my love.



All Marks, Then One

    Remember when beneath the silk
    My probing fingers’ questing sin
    Encountered craves of sister ilk
    Upon the landscapes of your skin?

          If I remember getting born?
          If I remember getting torn
          From skylights rich in flowers’ seed,
          Your flaring breath through flaming need
          My only greed?

    Remember promises we carved
    With fingers’ tips and fingers’ nails
    The growling flesh since ages starved
    About to whip with thousand tails?

          If I remember hunger’s sting?
          If I remember desert’s spring
          Invading world’s ascending skies
          Then laying mists of green goodbyes
          Inside my eyes?

    Remember canopies of wool
    And oceans deep of linen white
    And tears abundant as we spool
    The minutes round the pass of night?

          If I remember all that was?
          I don’t, I won’t, I shan’t because
          It never was my summer’s breeze,
          My cheer, my tear, my purple seas
          It ever... is.




    The pain of after
    Reflecting in the beauty of now


    My bird, the lark.
    My flower, lilac.
    My animal, dog.

    And your woman? she asked.

    I cried nonstop for three days
    filling up three huge beer mugs.
    Then I got up looking at her sadly,
    left enough money on the table to cover the tab
    and a generous tip
    “If you don’t know by now
    You will always not know...”
    flipped over the Slade record in my head
    letting the needle drop in the “Mama Weer All Crazee Now”
    and made for the door.
    “Wait!” the empress commanded
    and I waited.
    “If you don’t know by now
    You will always not know...”
    she quoted me saying
    as I turned around.
    “Sit down!” the empress commanded
    and I sat down.

    She picked up the first mug and downed it
    in one single lengthy gulp.
    Then the second one.
    The third.
    She burped lightly... “sorry, too much salt...”
    then started shuffling the tarots pack
    with a smooth continuous motion.
    “Witchcraft?” I asked.
    “Fate,” she answered.
    “Will you cheat?” I asked.
    “Never you,” she answered.
    “Can you stop the sun?”
    “No, but I can stop the moon,”
    and she did a small motion with her little finger.
    I looked out the window,
    The half moon turning full then half again.
    She smiled apologetically,
    “Sorry, wrong spell,
    Memory problems...”
    then handed me the cards pack.
    “So you can cheat,” I insisted.
    “Never you,” she repeated.
    I picked up the pack.
    “What now?”
    “Take out a card.
    Write on it. Put it back in.”
    I took a card, wrote on it,
    put it back in.
    “Take out a card.
    Write on it. Put it back in.”
    I took a card, wrote on it,
    put it back in.
    “Take out a card.
    Write on it. Put it back in.”
    I took a card, wrote on it,
    put it back in.
    She hesitated.
    I slid the pack towards her. She did not touch them.
    “Take out a card.
    Write on it. Put it back in.”
    I took a card, wrote on it,
    put it back in.
    “Now shuffle while I go for a pee,
    All this drinking...”

    I shuffled.
    Then I stood up, picked some paper napkins,
    entered the “Ladies Room”
    and pushed them under the closed door.
    I got back to my desk, shuffling.
    She returned, blushed.
    “How did you know?”
    I did not know.
    I was done crying.
    I wanted to know.
    “Stop!” the empress commanded
    and I stopped.
    “Pull out a card!” the empress commanded
    and I pulled.
    Then a second one.
    A third.
    She hesitated.
    I slid the pack towards her. She did not touch them.
    She asked a fourth time.
    I pulled a fourth card.

    She removed the ring from her finger
    laid it between us
    at the geometrically absolute gravity center of the table
    Removed the ring from my finger
    laid it exactly atop of hers.
    Closed her eyes. Turned her back.
    “Turn up the first card. Lark.”
    I was angry. Turned the first card.
    My handwriting. Lark.
    “Turn up the second card. Lilac.”
    I was not angry. Turned the second card.
    “Turn up the third card. Dog.”
    I was anxious. Turned the third card.
    One card left to turn, I knew where it was leading,
    I hoped.
    “Turn up the fourth card.”
    She did not say anything. She did not know.
    My hand shaking.
    I turned up the fourth card.
    Joker. Nothing.
    “I don’t know your woman,” she said,
    “I am witch,
    I obey fate.”

    She cried nonstop for three days
    filling up three huge beer mugs.
    Then she got up looking at me sadly,
    “If we don’t know by now
    We will always not know...”
    and made for the door.
    I broke the record in my head.
    “Wait!” I commanded and she waited.
    “If we don’t know by now
    We will know now.
    The moon obeys you.
    Fate obeys us.”
    I gulped down the three mugs.
    I picked up the Joker and jotted on it the one word.

    The rings blazed.
    I slid hers on my finger.
    She slid mine on her finger.
    The fragrance of burning flesh
    inebriating, intoxicating.
    “Did you cheat?” she asked.
    “Never you,” I answered.
    We heard the news in the background,
    Something about the moon.
    It was irrelevant.
    We married.


    The beauty of now



Beauty, Ahead Of You

    ahead of you,
    anticipating your next inhalation
    and filling the air with drops of aromatic sunbeads
    and crushed jasmine petals tinted the yellow pollen
    of white lilies and angry bees
    and sounds of larks gurgling their morning throats
    to saturation
    with exploding tiny water pebbles

    And as you break through the curtains of air
    veiling the nakedness of your skin
    sliding through it
    for the interminable bliss of one moment

    behind of you,
    sowing inside the clapping vacuum your next exhalation
    the tangled filigree of a sunbeam thread
    slowly sinking inside the one drop rain
    gliding off a curled leaf
    the dust pellets bursting open into unfurling jasmine petals
    the trill five octaves higher than the bark of bats
    converging into the celestial symphony of skin’s sensations

    And as I touch you
    the beauty vanishes inside me
    and timeless love poems
    paint the insides of my flesh cavern



Just A Scene

    I watched your profile
    as you turned the steering wheel away from me,
    All I could see was a mop of hair
    a piece of ear
    some of your neck,
    Then you turned the steering wheel towards me
    Your eyes leaving the road for a few parts of a second
    caressing my face,
    Adding a smile which hid again behind that mop of hair
    insistently blocking my view
    as the car rolled again the other way.

    Snippets of fragments of crumbs of memories
    Assailing in tireless waves my waking moments.

    I refuse to close my eyes,
    There is no need,
    My other mind independently counting strands of red hair
    and denying ridiculous claims of missing the count on purpose
    so that it can start counting anew
    again and again...
    Yeah, ridiculous...




    Your finger
    Touching the side of my mouth
    Collecting bits of humidity
    fed moments later to the tip of your tongue
    Then returning the favor
    by feeding its tip to my mouth.
    I taste it, imitating your gesture,
    then I let it curl around my index finger
    and guide my palm’s heel
    to linger close to your nipple’s exploding presence
    through the satin
    as your other hand searches for convoluting shapes
    lower down on my body
    penetrating between cloth and skin
    and sliding further
    while tips of tongues lead us dancing
    into world war three of the senses
    keeping the biting gates open
    as we exchange massive loads of saliva
    tinted with pulsating drops of blood
    and breath.




    The whirlwind
    In the middle of the torrid and sleepy day
    Who suddenly dived out of the inexistent clouds
    Ripping your buttons
    Tearing your shirt along the double seam
    Your underwear billowing till it exploded
    leaving for moments short the beauty of your skin
    within its sight and tender grasp.
    And as you gasped for more
    it disappointed you
    laying back in place your satins
    then your cottons
    then your silks
    and the only souvenir of momentary hurricane
    the jasmine seeds hanging there inside your red curls.

    Who? You mean to say Which,” you say.
    Which? I mean to say Who,” I say,
    remembering the infinite care with which
    I planted those seeds
    smelling the future aromas of your body
    before retreating into my invisible cloud,



In Abstract Ways

    In your body,
    In your hand,
    When the dough of my flesh oozes out reluctantly
    between your fingers
    outside of your fist as it closes upon the crust
    hosting the steaming remains
    of my screaming desire.

    Rubber ball pieces of soul thump on the sidewalk
    bounding about aimlessly
    behind the strange procession composed of
    your red flame fluttering in waves about your shoulders
    and enveloping my stumbling
    following you attached at finger
    and heart
    and breath.
    Like Siamese twins.
    Like love.

    I love you
    in so many words and ways.
    One single.

    I will die
    once our fingers separate
    and hearts beat a double rhyme
    and hurricane turns breath again
    chasing the rubber balls
    in a desert called life.
    I will be born yet again
    the moment your fingers squash once more the dough of my flesh
    and let drops of it trickle
    between your lips.



Soap Bubbles Murders

    Soap bubbles,
    floating above the hot water
    as I sink to the depths of the tub
    and let them glide down my skin
    in singles, then in packs
    trying to hang on
    then giving up
    and after exploding their quiet mad disappointment
    into my eyes...

    I sink my finger into the biggest,
    its molecular thin surface stretching inwards
    allowing my finger to penetrate its impenetrable shell
    the first ever, the last ever
    to touch that one timely sacred domain
    of its uniqueness
    and live.

    I close my eyes.
    That fragile balance between reality and dream
    so vulnerable to air drafts
    and sighs and sudden moves
    and inattention
    and love,
    which will it be, how will it be?
    I carry the breathing, undulating creature to my pillow
    lay it on the linen with the care of building a life
    in an uterus denied to me
    and know that tomorrow when I wake up
    it will still be there...
    or not, if it does not want to.

    “You have the strangest ways to tell me that you love me,”
    you say.
    “You quote yourself,” I say.
    “Still true,” you say.
    “I have the strangest ways to love you,” I say.
    “Way!” I stand corrected and I add
    “Like none before.”
    “What about after?” you ask, hesitating.
    “There is no after,” I answer
    and you know
    and you let me touch your eyelash with my lips
    licking away a crumb of sunlit dust.

    I watch the bubble stretching its colors upon my skin
    then soaking in
    then dissipating into my blood.
    I know that next time I cut myself I will smell
    lilac and jasmine.
    You pick a needle and prick your finger
    reaching out to my nostrils...
    oh, the lilac and jasmine fragrances...
    “So you too are a soap bubble murderer,” I say.
    “Yes,” you answer, “there is no after.”
    I fall asleep in your lap
    never letting go of the bleeding finger you slide
    between the left ends of my lips.



That Body

    That body,
    In its shadow Venus de Milo hardly a bony teenager
    La Gioconda’s eyes a study in sarcasm
    And Juliet but a shrew,
    That body
    Writhing in inferno’s agony.

    Let me anoint myself on your skin’s dunes
    Inside your eyes’ irises
    In the depths of your mind’s crevices
    And rock you into the bliss of eternal caress
    and green fields
    and wisdom
    Which are yours by right
    and beauty.

    I love you.



Vision? What About... Love?

    Sitting in my lap,
    Legs dangling beyond the easy chair’s arms rest
    Fingers twined tightly at the nape of my neck
    with your forehead resting in the cozy nook
    between shoulder and unshaven chin
    while I sneeze repeatedly
    as savage hair rebels invest my nose.
    “Sing me a song,” you beg.
    “I just did.”
    “No, you just sneezed...” I sneeze again,
    “A song.”
    “Promise not to turn stone?”
    “Promise to turn stone if you don’t.”

    I spit on my fingers and stick the rebels to your scalp,
    That’s better, no more sneezing,
    And I start singing Paul Anka’s “Put Your Head on my Shoulder”.
    “I hate Paul Anka.”
    “I love Paul Anka.”
    “I love Paul Anka.”

    Everything around me turns stone,
    No wonder, if I keep singing the seas will dry
    and gold will turn plastic.
    You turn flesh,
    Then honey,
    Then skin to my skin like skin
    you engulf me,
    “I love you,” I hear my voice
    out of tune with the out of tune song,
    You don’t answer, busy not turning stone,
    Chuckling from time to time as I hit a desperate note,
    And skin finally turns fireflies
    blinking like crushed diamonds
    upon the uncovered parts of my body.
    “I love you,” you finally answer,
    Metamorphosis complete,
    And my singing matters not
    as first morning rays find a smoldering crater
    where leftovers of trickling lava follow the fire monster
    home to earth’s fulminating heart.
    “Fire,” my scorched throat whispers hoarsely
    while I keep rocking you in my arms.
    “Love,” you respond
    singing the fire straight into my bones.



Love Its Name

    we married,
    we touched,
    we burned,
    the seed inside me swelling
    blooming into shapes of transparent toes
    kicking hard
    my belly
    from the inside
    pain wedding sweetness
    as rhyming fragrances evade my mouth
    the echo of a newborn’s heart penetrating
    inside the rhyme...

    “wait... your belly?... you are the male...”

    i touch your nose with my ringed finger
    making certain it sparkles, blinding your eye.
    “this is our couple,
    this is our marriage,
    this is our child
    Love its name,
    growing in my belly
    sucking its life from my flesh, my blood, my urge,
    pieces of me in it,
    and pieces of you,
    and the rest of... us.”
    you let my finger linger on the tip of your nose,
    uncertain if to move your head up and bite it
    or lower your head and let it draw designs on your forehead.

    “Love, what a beautiful name you chose for it...”
    “Love, what a beautiful name we chose for it...”

    i see mountains reflecting in your eyes
    as rivers swim upwards
    defying gravitation
    and the laws of nature
    and the laws of man
    and green pours into rainbows
    defying colors
    and the laws of nature
    and the laws of man
    “and how do i know i am the mother?” you ask
    defying evolution
    and the laws of nature
    and the laws of man.

    i know that depending on my answer
    your head will move up biting my finger off
    or down
    allowing it to draw phrases copied from the ring
    onto your forehead.
    “you will know once i give birth
    and rip away the umbilical cord from my body
    and see Love suckling tomorrows from my breast
    and growing into a wondrous creature
    of softness unknown
    and warmth unmatched.”
    “and how do i know i am the mother?” you repeat.
    “you will know once you allow it to cuddle against you
    and its softness unknown
    touch you
    and its warmth unmatched
    seep into you.”
    “and how do i know i am the mother?” you repeat patiently,
    for the last time.
    “you will know it once it learns to speak
    and your patience will carry you to that day
    when unteached it will say its first word ever,
    and it will call you... mom.”

    my finger did not move.
    your head moved down
    allowing the fingertip to touch your forehead
    and i start copying there the magic of the words
    from our ring.



Brush Strokes

    Stretch your toes,
    Stretch them,
    More, thinner,
    Let me fit wads of rolled cotton wool between them
    and then paint images of pagan art on each single toenail
    Hypnotizing brush strokes turning each into a masterpiece
    of green winds and glowing roots and crawling flowers
    and love words in languages ancient
    unknown to all
    but you and me,
    the first and last of lovers.

    The thin brush misses a spot
    and touches the flesh between your toes
    then again... is it on purpose?...
    I guess it is,
    My hand dragging it up to your ankle then beyond
    leaving a trail of red bubbling wine drops in its wake
    gliding, skidding,
    Then I shudder and return crestfallen
    to another toes-bordered valley
    And move again up your ankle and beyond
    this time the trail fermenting with your sweet rot of jasmine
    and my deeper rot of lilac
    steaming up from your flesh in true emulation of summer god’s incense...
    I actually wonder who emulates whom
    when the fragrance hits my sensory systems
    and I start disintegrating into love particles
    soaking past your skin barrier.

    I reach your inner thighs,
    Dip the brush in green nail polish, then in an overturned honey jar
    And leave spots of solidifying yellow dew
    with green hearts
    all over the forest I earlier on painted with the tip of my tongue
    around the tips of hair not closely shaven
    and the amorphous freckles blushing with virginal pride decorum
    upon the sun burned landscape surrounding that pale isle
    shaped like my fingers’ spread.
    And there where the thigh flows into your belly
    I run the brush gently again
    and again.
    You sigh.

    I bend over your belly button
    and let a drop of mint flavored saliva drop in its depth,
    You squirm for a second as it burns your skin
    and cuts down through your flesh
    through your entrails
    exiting with a hiss trough the skin stretched upon your spine,
    Then I dip the brush in the blood stained mixture
    and paint sun rays stretching all the way to your nipple
    and beyond
    Letting the light blind me as I repeat the move to the other nipple,
    Then upwards
    cutting your lips in four
    and your forehead in two,
    Then downwards
    splitting your body into an agonizing left side
    and an agonizing right side
    screaming the tender woes of love.

    “I never knew love,” you say.
    “I never knew love,” I echo your teaching
    as I start brushing undulating dragon tails
    from the roots of your hair
    down your neck
    and all the way back down to heels ending
    in those divinely shaped toes
    where adventure was born.
    “How do I look?” you ask,
    Your chest a thundering gale.
    “I don’t know, I am merely a one dimensional painter.
    How does one describe the countless dimensional depths of beauty?”
    I answer,
    My chest a thundering gale.
    “A single drop of this love in the ocean
    and the ocean will boil itself dry,” you say,
    As your big toe wanders purposefully into my mouth.
    “That’s why no drop of this love will ever touch a thing
    but you,” I answer,
    Chewing my way purposefully from the toe up.



Letter To William S

    Little me,
    Too little to say the right words in the right order to the right effect,
    When she cuts, she bleeds
    Were the words said by you, master,
    Not those but like those,
    Not about her but about humanity,
    Not today... I wish you lived today to say these words
    To sing her praise
    To see the flesh behind the steel in pain, bleeding,
    So soft the human on the pedestal,
    So deep the love encrusted inside the powerful fist,
    I wish your words were about her
    Because she is the one
    to be sung about
    and praised
    and remembered in sonnets ageless.

    Little me,
    I wish you wrote these lines, master,
    Because she is worthy of your words
    and memories eternal.



That Raging Kiss

    Desire crawls to restless sleep
    Through pulsing burrows tinted red
    As pollen stars long furrows rip
    Inside the liquid cotton bed.

    The silence. Breath entwined with breath,
    A sleeping breast inside a fist,
    A moment lost in tender death
    Time sizzling sweat turns salty mist.

    The furnace waits, the charred remains
    Of moans unleashed just minutes old
    Still smolder, lame, between the grains
    Of sparkling drops of molten gold.

    A stir, a piercing ray of dawn
    Ignites one spot of bluish lip
    While morning moths begin to yawn
    And liqueur sighs begin to drip.

    Upon the skin a ripple’s glide
    Betrays the end of lovers’ peace
    When storm’s ascending rolling tide
    Awakes once more that raging kiss,

    Desire finds its pace anew
    Its manner dressing dragon’s flair
    And lambent flames the flesh imbue
    With tingles sweet and pleasures bare.




    I lay on the sand,
    After having loved you...
    No, wrong phrasing,
    After having loved each other.
    Hmmm... oops... wrong again,
    We still love each other...
    ... after having satiated our carnal desires
    with quivering chunks of smoldering flesh
    fanned into glowing red by the sirocco
    dying slowly inside our lungs...

    “Too long.”
    “What was that?”
    “Too long,” you repeated
    from your position of superiority
    sitting cross legged and naked on my chest,
    Eyes closed, arms stretched to your sides,
    Morning dew hanging indecently to your nipples’ tips
    and refusing to part,
    As you interrupted your mantra’s incessant aumm...ing
    to cut me with your snide remark.
    “And they will laugh at it...”
    “But it is true.”
    “They don’t know...”
    the aumm... back in swing.
    “You are heavy,
    I can hardly breathe,”
    I said a few minutes later,
    Meaning it
    And meaning also to distract your attention.
    It was a lost battle, we both knew it,
    You gloating and I panting.
    “Too long.
    And I prefer drenched rather than satiated.”
    I started rewinding the words in my mind,
    Trying to fit my text to your command
    and eyeing worriedly a pair of scorpions approaching,
    Deciding this was no business of their own
    And parting wagging their tails dog fashion.
    Strange dessert.
    If it wasn’t for the sharp stone under the small of my back
    and the thistle stuck deeply into my shoulder blade...

    “What was that?” you quoted my open question
    to my hidden thought.
    “Nothing,” I lied,
    Refusing to part with the fire of pain and pleasure.
    “Nice combination, not very original, pain and pleasure.”
    The aumm... stopped.
    “Turn around,” you commanded
    Sitting on the sand next to me
    Still cross legged and stretch armed...
    How did you do that, did you float there?
    I obeyed.
    You started peeling off sand grains from my skin,
    Bit out the dry thistle with a bit of flesh attached... ouch...
    Pulled away a few stones from the small of my back
    and lay on them
    motioning me on top of you.
    “Your turn,” you said,
    “Why?” I asked stupidly.
    “I want to feel...” you answered
    not finishing the sentence
    and pulling my mouth to embrace the sand of your lips.

    The dew drops were long gone,
    as was the sun,
    the scorpions,
    the pain.
    The pleasure persisted, unending.
    I looked around us at the battle field
    accommodating the thrashing traces of our bodies,
    Irregular glints reflecting the partial moon
    and dressing the sand with a starlike appearance.
    “What is it?” I asked.
    “Glass puddles,” you answered,
    Where were you when the fire devastated me?”
    “Lost?” I dared.
    “Good answer. Borders on acceptable.”
    We lay there, hugging,
    Frozen drops’ glints adding a different hue to the glass glints
    and a few coyotes galloping by leaving steaming pieces of fog
    hanging in the air disturbance
    before floating slowly
    like fog cotton
    down to the ground.
    I picked the crumbs of once upon a time stones
    crushed underneath us
    and set them on your belly button
    between your toes
    on your forehead.
    “What are you doing, is it a ceremony of some kind?”
    It took me some time to balance two pieces
    on the tips of your nipples,
    and after finally succeeding
    I sat down next to you waiting for it to happen.
    “Goddess...” I breathed
    watching the seeds sprout and flowers open
    and moon rays soaking into your alighting flesh,
    “I love you.”