The Marrow Of My Bones

To fly in life or tread
the books that we have read
the roof where my ghost sleeps
with dreams that no one keeps.

Perhaps i should forget
the illusions i get
of sweet reflections few
those images are due.

The painting on the wall
hangs on and will not fall
to lay on water stones
a lightness which atones

the memory of bones.



The model

A picture is erased
reality of inner space
a character of flesh and blood
the paper that we should draw on.

Face of chalk body of sand
she sinks at once into the ground
the eyes that see the eyes of light
the disapearance of delight.

To eat oneself one's own body
the meat hidden within our throats
to feast upon the object
the relinquishment of nightmares.

I love you as you're out of reach
sketched like a drawing in my head
like what is left of life just passed
the dream that you walked in at last.

The mole

Ambiguity of just despair
a yellow flower in my hair
a yellow lip on my mirror
a yellow hand over the door.

A man could crawl within this hole
a man would then look like a mole
blind but to see only in dark
with just his hollow brain for ark.

A man with feelers as for ears
a skull for skin and weed
for hair nowhere to heed
his hands but shears.

I am this one made with paper
always afraid and always wrong
always fearing the lash of thong
and always ready to whimper.

the night after Anna

Abated is the night after
the night i spent with you,
abstract this feeling in my head
procrasting my own death,

those lost figures remain in me
long shadows on a wall
elongated like serpentines
swirling all around.

I feel like underneath the earth
my body rotting piece by piece,
my rotten mind, my rotten heart,
my rotten feeling of this dearth.















The picture

Ambiguity of love and hate
life but just passed
as in a haste
the world goes round

you're lost and found
at once
a maimed shadow
bent as a bow

realm of picture
put in a frame
the hand that seize
but in rapture

what goes away
that's white and grey
the image that we should regret
what you could give and what you get

and what you let.




The Reel

My heart and soul in a closet
i search a way out of myself,
to close a hand, and to regret
what was just said and lost and set.

My bones should cover up this ground
where when i walk i hear no sound
but the echoes of words you said
left in my ear just where they laid.

Slowly of time unwound the reel
is while you're away and the mirror
sends a vision of the horror
of the loneliness that i feel.

Open a hand but just to give
the instant that we should forgive
to the love one that use to live
within our mind, the walls bereave

the face i drew on a canvas
and which like a shadow did just pass.









The Ship

Animation of a dead man
body of dust put in a box
a long shadow lies in his head
who knows if he is actually dead?

I take the chance of voice and sound
a meat of flesh i take a pound
out of my own body
and give it up to you...

I am unable to find the way
to every part of fantasy
i hear you cry, i hear you say
i am but a body made of clay;

of clay the sky, of clay the sea,
we are statues, waiting to see
a ship afar that will take us
to the land that we know

but do not live in, yet;
thus we shall depart, and die, forget
that we ever were alive,
in hope or in neglect.

The square

To sketch a face of eyes and hands
to see what's left of a body
when i take off the skin and flesh
just holes for eyes and scar for mouth.

If i cut off all the fingers
they will like worms lie on the ground
if i would chew these bits of meat
i would but hear the knuckles crush.

To paint a thought on a billboard
to put a stroke between two lines
is to unwind the reel of thought
and to draw in a square the lines

and unravel when they tangle
the colours sprayed on its angles.

The tightrope walker

Lost of the loss
to die at once
to share the gloss
and the colours

of a foregone felicity
of love and grace
and thus to see but in a face
the certainty

of death in life
to go and pass
above the pit
where we should fall

once and for all
heavy as lead
like shadows on a wall
stretched by a thread.


















The zombies

To hear echo of your scream
madness of dreaming the age
to take the slime of the heart
from the eyes of nobody.

Walking dust of air
resilient of no mind
the arms of the blind streched out
to embrace us as we sleep.

I curse the madness trapped in me
neighboring of the swamp
where i meet the zombie and the fool
coming out of their graves,

they walk from dusk to dawn in death
they take me by the hand to meet
my own ego lost in the holy wood
and split my body for the birds.

Time is dead

Echoes my loneliness in the solitude of a child
i peel off my skin like from an orange
the pulp and the flesh mixed up with my blood
and the brain like golden orb in my head;

and suddenly it rolls down the hill of a bone
where i met my father's ghost on the high road,
with the meat of his wound lying in my belly
i could hear his voice crying in the fire;

when sweating the flames send flashes on those walls,
reflections of erased paintings,
the portrait of the dead, i stay there,
mixing ancient and recent days,

i overflow out of my own body
to stay invisible.


Trance

Entire the life before we thought to escape,
to reveal the light of the night in a well,
to show what covers you face, is it a cape
or a cap i don't care, my love, oh well...

what shall we do with both of us in a trance?
i thought we could split up, but i dance
with your ghost in my arms i can't stop
to gather my body in one piece, and to drop

a hand or a finger in a bag,
i carry around this torso that i drag
in the streets filled by people who are dead,
while i hear poems and crazy songs in my head

i see lights coming out from my wounds,
i see fire and lights droping from the sky,
i see dead bodies stiff and dry,
i see you crying but i am deaf to all sounds,

i carry around my dead flesh like burnt coal,
i go down the slope where i roll
endlessely like a bobbin of thread,
winding by the paths that other people tread.

You don't have flash installed.