saying my love to Anna

Intimacy that just abides
the revolution of a dream
the certainty that will prevail
the lightening of a beam.

the love that grows with head and tail
the shadow that climbs on a wall
the cold feeling of ice and hail
the hung up star that does not fall,

remind me that you are not there
isolation of a nightmare
to ride a cloud and to be left
alone in the sky bereft

of an image that slowly fades
blurred aspect of somebody
as if your body was just made
with the aura of nobody.

Schizophrenia

Neglection of an aery
bizarre shadow of
someone else
the true future lies in the eyes

of a twice blinded man in a cage
a window enlarged to the skies
does circumvent another end
the deadening of a man.

Epiphany that does not say
who will carry on away
the man who follows up himself
the reflection that we all cast

like a moment that's not to last
dust among dust
in suffering and in lust
the slow blightening of an axe.


self portrait

The eye that sees
but not to know
beneath the skin
the consciousness to glow.

Rapture is the pleasure
to open up inside
with love and with leasure
whatever is but kind.

Harmony in the mirror
forgotten reflection
delivers in his horror
the lasting of an action.

Sounds and thoughts

What should be issued of a sound
an aura from a magic land
the similitude of ripping off
the quiet softness of a leg.

Irony out of reach
to spread a skin on a body
to tie up together the nerves
and to undo the ties of blood.

I put some music in my flesh
to make tunnels inside the void
and made a hook to seize in time
the illusions of thoughts and sounds.







Sourness

Searching my way
out of nowhere
a piece of flesh
soaking with blood,

so young to die
a sinew tied
a face of plastic
on my skin.

Open a hand
there is an eye
winking inside
your palm;

to live alone
and to behold
my body filled with pus
like the brain of a wound

when it swells.

Tears

The certainty of a life past,
remembrance that we forget,
what should be gone and what should last
that we restore or will neglect.

A bridge of flesh, a sea of blood,
scars all over my face,
the sounds, the colours on this flood,
the sheer chaos, a forgone grace.

The forfeiture of age and time,
to dance, to sing, and thus to die
in the putting off of a rhyme;
or if we cry

just like the tears would never lie.










The crow

I can see you black raven on a stock
looking at me with eyes of fire
mellow as grass and stern as rock
like a ghost caught in a gyre.

To walk alongside the pier
throwing the eyesights of the blind
stiff and steady as a metal wire
of a man's burning mind.

Burning, burning in the trash
of mankind gently turning
to the side like cold ash
that would be the crying

before dashing off to the end of it all
at once and be glad in death,
perspiring, relentless, out of breath,
or going wading like specter through a wall.






















The Crowd Down The Street

Life bred at my expense
on what i fed but pure nonsense
the deads are here to talk with me
their lips are sewed by memory.

Amenity of plain disgust
by my window i feel the gust
of wind prying at my shirt
my hair not combed my eyes do hurt

from peering long the street
that flows full of the crowd
that comes and goes their feet
not touching yet the ground.

The sky is filled with clouds
and stars which just reflect
my thoughts, my ears are deaf from the loud
noise of their voices which deflect

what i just feel should here be perfect.




















The graveyard

Eyes but just to see the friends dead
shadows hanging around
the street is full of blue ghosts
and the sidewalks littered with scabs.

I can not be but in tears
my life worn out in shreds and in rags
to tear off one's cheek and to sink
in the heart of this lifeless chest.

I make a move and the next
takes me to the steps of the grave
when the wet roofs only reflect
the rays of the sun in the eyes

blind and the wall will rise up
to enclose my body forever
in the room where no door can be found
and where all the windows are nailed down.

The Head

exerce the fight
or night
in just this light
so bright

to see a room full of flowers
where skeletons could crawl
to lull someone in a bower
as somber bells do toll

your image caught inside a well
bounces backlash on this mirror
gorgeous or gore
a mouth open only to yell

the certitude that we should see
a picture painted on the sea
a slate as flat as my own head
a lip thin as a thread.

The jails of flesh

A brain over the pitched voice of the sun
expanding our future
light and loose
like a lonely vulture.

Soldered cells of the soul
in the iron mind we might climb
out of our nest and seize what we can
from life and loaf.

Let's part the meat and the bread
be rich of clouds and of stars
pretend that we are wild and gay
alone in our jails of flesh.

Then we shall repent and forgive
mild as shades
floating around
like wandering echos of no sound.

The living maze

Teetering there a bit dizzy
i met figures off funerals
which bewitch all night crazy
saints on their pedestals.

I walk aloud the motley crowd
gathered on stairs of churchs
or within mansions high and broad
figures of death as it lurchs.

I see madmen dressed in black
catching winds that they would tack
to walls of eternity
left wriggling there with no pity.

Their arms cut off like those of clocks
piled up in shreds, put in a box,
with eyes that see no more but blaze,
their heavy skulls, an horrid maze.

The longing

To be so stiff and just as dead
heavy as stone in the desert
to stay alone within a head
atrocious to exert,

is to unfold the seams of time
crushed like a seed into a fist
awake upright ready and list
or like a statue made of lime.

I beg you take the chance to stride
and go along the shores and cliffs
and when you see horses to ride
die in a whiff

of air by trees and then fall back
in destiny where men in black
shall sing aloud this windfall song
for hearts to long.

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