Cannibalism

Birth, age,
the youth that will be worn out
by the calvary, wreckage
of a truth melted into blasphemy.

The bars of the cage on the floor
are smirched with blood, while the beasts are
eating one another, hearing the blueness
of the chords playing unheard music,

i will, driven by celestial force
bend down to the pool
where intertwined bodies
copulate like mere animals.

The pool reflects my own body
the shape of which is mazed,
to stay thus like amazed
as the downpouring of the rain

destroys my skull,
i hear their screams as, in this bestial ceremony,
they sacrifice their own children
by eating them alive.

















The shape of my desire

Pretending life and grace,
but cut in two
pieces
my body apart from my head,

i fancy my own soul
from the beginning of the
flesh
up to streching the earth with the beasts.

When the skin grows sour,
the openning of the navel,
taking
the hand of the plant from the ground

and lifting it up, but my feet have no toes.
So the roots of your eyelashes could,
grasp
the dream floating off the sky,

to spray in just one stroke
the round horizon of my desire.



















The Brain

Exhaustion is my sole motive
a new season
so secretive.

i abort on
another life
the term of which is fabulous

i fill my head
with fantasies
of millions pure uncertainties

the term of the hour
brings me back to the vein
in the original splendour

of the brain.


Annalee Bishop2

Your eyes were cast
in blue metal to shed
eternity that does not last
until it bled.

I have seen you a ghost
of flesh and skin
of a strange soul the host
i thought we were akin.

But i was wrong
in this: who cares here
about this kind of  a song
to just call me a liar...






Again what i thoutght she could be

Enemity of night and day
in the remembrance of delight
the soul exquisit and the flight
of thoughts across the bay.

A love that grows on every tree,
a fallen leaf, a fallen head,
a shadow running far ahead,
and eyes of gold on her own eyes.

The somber bell that cries despair,
not to love, not to care,
to forget and yet to regret
what was thought to be

the circumference of the tree.


The studio

At night
the dark room, statues and paintings
hanging around,
it is empty though
with a single light

burning out
inside my head;
it is
casting a shadow on the wall
right beside my bed,

and the waking
takes me slowly,
only one open eye
witnesses
the dying of my dream.




Summertime

Apart from life
apart from you,
meat rotten, decay of flesh,
organs thrown to dogs and cats,.
my eye out of its socket
looks at my own head
cut off from my own body...
Anna, you’re eating out my life
like a mother devouring her own child!
A canvas on a wall, a cut out window,
the dream of what could have been
the lasting of a season.


A love poem

My consciousness like a still
point precise within my head
i touched you like a circling sun
i thought before that i was dead.

I had been dwelling in the shade
my own body made of darkness
my skin peeling as i had  made
of myself just a mess.

I made my model out of you
your eyes were grey, grey was your mind,
i painted it on canvases
where i did put what i could find

out of pain and out of breath,
a cut arm and a long lived death;
let me restore what you have lost
the past, the future and of most

the dying figure of this mirth.




He is me

Abide my mind that will provide
a heart of spit, and nails of stone,
sinews screwing screws in flesh
when my own sex is filled with sperm.

I orchestrate my own chaos,
rage and fear, loss of control,
what will be left of bones and meat
a butchery under the skin.

A shadow passes like a fool
made of darkness and of blight,
light as air, he does not walk
on any ground but filled with spite.

A storm builds on within his head
like hurricanes between the gates
blowing clusters of skulls in shreds,
the jaws grinding, my yellow teeth,

his liver dead.


Inside

Stranger of such`
the game of will
a look so deep
but just so much.

Is he but ill?
go with his crutch
someone to weep
to walk or lurch.

I fathom sleep
to cut and butch
in your brain drill
a hole to touch

a soul.
Anna

blue river of the sky in my blood my
sinking heart of violet the
rising of the moon on murder
and rape what can not be
told but only seen on screen
a catacomb of light and rays
a solid body made of thought
a dying beauty with no eyes
that sees but with no future
the aftermath of our death
and the desire of my loss.


Agony

As i am slowly burning i can see a sea shining
bright in your eyes which reminds me
that i am close to the true birth
of the child and that you live
in the unused town were
the dead men dwell also.

Wrapped in a shroud
i hear you wailing on the
high sky between the sun and
the moon you lie white and
stiff but i can still hear
this song, your voice lulling

me into sleep and your eyes
watching our quiet agony.










The Dead

Entrance of night in the
lamp which will
fade
after your face was erased
from my window pane
bubbles of light on the skin
shining bright
do tell
the coming of the song
the raising of the dead from its womb.


Dejected


Serious the wound in my throat
the bleeding of the dead
an old scar opens up
and spills my flesh from its mouth.

The craziness of the bones
skeleton in my spit
i go round and round
discarded, caught in ropes of trash,

then i follow down the leg
as it touches this ground,
my room full of windows
like mirrors where i see

reflections of casted off puppets
illusion of love just gets
me by the ribs, and i forget
the lenght of a life i reject.







Country

Celebration of just disease
an eye to see nowhere
the reflection of due words
but sing in a chair.

Deflegration of rock and stones
the absolutness of my hand
to seize what’s left right on the floor
of tiles and sands.

To procrastinate and exist
and live a life full of microbes
an antibiotic to the heart
from shreds of robes.

To reach out to old age or grab
a piece of flesh out of the wall
to mend the skin and part the lungs
to take oxigen from the soul

or to repair our bits of land.




















Time

The face that we supress
on paper in distress
the eyes blank but to watch
the colours as they match.

Orgasm of the brain
which sends images wide
to fill and then to drain
the sinews where they glide.

A future that won’t come
the past will but recess
from present to become
the pain in vividness.

The clock that goes backward
shall call the hour gone
its hands turn on and on
like images off ward

like manikins of none.


Forgone

a worthiness of mind and loss
when walking across
the fire
i fall out of my desire

and of you see just a ghost
this amazing light
a host
a dreariness of might

crushing all that goes
between a body
that forgoes
and just the soul of nobody.


Oneself

Abort the life
a dead born child
a rotten sea
which like a mirror
sends back reflections
of what we see
in what we abhor....
Extremity of illusion
out of true confusion
we self delude our second self
in only fear of deception.


Insomnia

Aghast i am
in my own bones
i fathom life
with just a knife.

Inside my wound
i slightly move
without a sound
i can not prove

what i feel like.
Mad as a dog
this brain of mine
caught in a bog

i can not sleep
are you a dream ?
my mouth a seam
the scar so deep

i start to weep
but can not hide
my face inside
your hands.


Scarlet is my wound

Atrocious passing of the dead
to be maimed and to forget
with our feet weighted with lead
that we are but midget

over this vast land. Thus i rise
up white as chalk
take a path and chastise
myself as i walk.

I go along the hills and plains
i see men strutting out in towns
i feel so lost, so sad and vain,
shunned by maids and shunned by crones;

i spend a life in mockery
i live among the wolves awake
and i argue with bickery
about the things that time will rake.

Atrocious passing of the dead
on graves that we have fed upon
what was just forgotten or said
like stains of blood on an apron

is blood so red.















Necrophilia


Light goes over the wound
to spend an hour and be
dead like a stone in the sand
the night on this blighted land.

Become yourself
burn the tongue and in flesh
hear the song that deflects
arrows pointless and limp.

To recess in the womb and forget
sexuality of the wise
a desire without a subject
a body but tot target

corpses in a grave as they rise.
























Childhood

Resisting love, shade of the thrusted head,
the blind imagining the world,
the time flowing in his brain in recess.
We have touched the light

sound of a voice echoing in our mind,
memory of the rooms, the house we lived
in is now empty and wrecked.
I bypass my own shadow

to fall right away in the grave,
the bottom of which i never hit,
but your hand sticking out of the womb
could grasp mine and take me up to the sky.

In the attic we used to play,
games with toys of sorrow,
experiencing blight within joy
and rapture within madness.

Melancholy that should prevail
will feed the wagging dog inside us,
his muzzle made of charcoal,
his shining eyes like diamonds.

















Into another's body

His body made with mine
to spend a life on stones
to be but made with bones
to be eaten by worms.

The cloud above the house
the star within my head
a mute music to hear
and walk on just a thread.

To spend a life in grass
the relief to survive
a pleasant day to pass
in disguise.

I wish i were myself
another but the same
a creature of the night
that only you could tame.

His body made with mine
to wait into the air
the whiff that'll push me in
the landscape of despair.

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