The Writing

A writer's life is to deny
The end is where you go
She doesn't tell what she makes up
No one should ever know


She sometimes says she has a pen
She rarely ever does
She knows what time to say what, when
She knew what never was

A timer's aim is to tell time
A writer keeps it still
A daughter's son forgets a birth
A writer never will

The sky blames no one for the sun
It is what is written
No father wishes for a son
Who writes because it's sin

Smoking

There are three ways to do this.
First, we meet. Second, you weep
Then we make out and delay a sleep

The third is a series.
You wake up and see if I'm there
Or if I'm not where you should go.
Then there's a dinner of steak
and I remember how far
the edge of this sea
from where you are
and I picture a day without you
and forget it is
before I ignite a cigarette
that shouldn't be lit.
Your body fills my thoughts,
your mouth mine.
I think of kissing your eyes
in the middle of a sea
I do not own, like you now,
unreachable by smoke

What Comes Next

Do you not care when I say that
I'll be forever gone
There is no saying what comes next
Why can't we have more fun?

You dare not give yourself to me
My world, you say, is old
How can you say that to my face
Have you ever been bold?

You cannot even risk a kiss
You are always afraid
It will turn out like you've foretold:
Everything is to fade

Tonight desire has reached its tip
You can fall by my side
I can't now say you never did
Remind me that I died

Watching You

Don't you like when it rains this good
And you don't have to say
What no one dares to utter once
And none shall lose their way?

When it's this cold
and you have thought
There is better outside
Will you try to run through the wet
And find in me a side

That you're the only one to see
And only one to feel
When there's nothing more to believe
And most have been concealed?

When it's this dark is it wrong to
Deny what life can give
And ask from whom everything comes:
Can I not watch you live?

The Town

This is a town where we see all
The homeless pry the streets
You don't know who to blame and what
Will ever be discreet

You think you can but all is down
Your trial is banal
This is a town where no one owns
The biggest single call

Why should you give a penny out?
This man's not your father
Let him lie down the streets and you
Continue the order

Let no one touch you and touch none
Who never will return
But be aware no one has known
The one who is to burn

The Universe Announce

You must have hurt yourself. See? My surprise knows no bounds, is almost
Fatal and you can't fend it off. Everything fattens.
Sure, you have recourse but is it yours? Is it stellar
Enough to deny reaction from something divine?
It's not planetary, not that you know of such thing.
It's scary now because all you have is a look.
Did I give it to you without your asking?
Have I ever promised you less revolting
Much kinder less appraising poorly dealt?
You can't find no delicate impression of goddesses these days am I not right?

Not here, where I allow a wrestle to implode
Not here when it's over even before ever
Has a meaning? Been there? Of course
All relates to a lessening and no response erupts.
And still, all this, after aeons of war.

Where It's Not Haiti

There's no such friendship as a pretty unreliable.
The cue is right here: scapular, restricted smoke, soap.
The intention is neutral: a point to no thinking
A response, fall-out, like an interrupted glance
Fragment no possibility: the range of fraction denies
Flat-faced pure telegram-prone tone has its edges
You cannot stop, unlike a walk

Now picture two of this. (Can't you unkill?) Picture stanza
That now refers to a planned theater. Lady sentences darling
To say that it's over, endless. What smoke doesn't fit?
What I should wait. The worst: the body. The next body that is
Supposed to hurt but it can't right now I'm afraid.

The Point of An Ending

It's over now, you can sit down
And wish it be the same
But never shall we ever claim
We basically have waned

We do not say we wish it back
What's done is not what is
You can call for all of your gods
While I sit here in bliss

I shall be rabid like the one
Who never is absurd
I shall be more than just complete
I own this fucking world

The day has come and it's all mute
No desire has been met
And yet some life's beyond repeat
And I've paid death my debt

The Acquaintance

Let's do this trick from eye to eye
I'll open now my book
You're never here but sure you'll care
Nothing of what I took

Are you sure you want to do this?
Because I'm now in doubt
There's nothing here that you can show
Will be worth more than shout

Are you sure that you're done with that?
Because I'm here for more
Celebrate now before you see
I am the greatest bore

I can't tell you about the heart
Or why it's still not healed
The only thing you need to know:
It ends in just one feel

The Lady In The Bar Late At Work

I cannot move faster than this
I don't run like I cry
I take my patience from my son
And he's not getting by

I have my breasts to him a lot
His life depends on mine
You know I cannot drink that now
Don't listen to me sigh

Do not fret if you're the fifteenth
Tonight it's about fun
Be very slow with how you flow
It's all too far, the sun

Please hush now baby, do not mind
That I'm not there for you
The world is proof you don't need me
Prove that it is untrue

The Meeting

The stars declare democracy.
When have you told me it was me
that had to be there with your hand
and bleed myself like I'm the man

who needs to say I'm sorry, too
but mean it like how moon turns blue
and yet believe I've given due
to a delay that made me you?

I'm ready for the stars to fall
I'm waiting for your heart to call
Itself barely living and mauled,
I am the snake who never crawled.

Homage To Their Meaning

I've never seen you stammer

What you're singing

There's no minding whatever

Someone's not eating

There's no story left

For the shaking

What part of past isn't given

To crying? To what debt

Shall I burden the pen

You are holding?

In crime there's witness

To nothing. To no one 

I play my piano now

Someone's sitting's a love for fat

Someone's standing sobers the flat

 Our body's sweat. Everything's wet

Everybody's somebody's

Person to forget

Movement and Distance

[Distance] is the basis of all measurement of length. -A. Einstein

My moon resembles a wagon, its books contain
Music you need to die twice to hear
A window of arrows will stun you. A brave life
Shall be shamed by my very scent

Your face shall be halved. It shall share
Not one of its slats to armoring trolls
Your taken souls shall question
How it never stood up with me. Then we'll listen
To its attempt to sway me back to a hand
I know is more strict than time.

But then we settle, the dregs keeping you from day
Then you brush away your hair, silent and stolid
Like wet kitten dunning a mother for milk

Then you move, sew, drink and watch
Then I wrap, make, quiver and fall

When People Are Asleep

This city's engineers are asleep and live in mountains.
Some of them do not know how to spell beige.
Some are not looked upon. Some can't see the man
wearing nothing, pulling dark sewage out of a world
He's probably not an engineer. We can be sure,
too, that many of them have green eyes
or plainly, eyes that see the color red
Eyes that caught mine when I'm in the mood to judge
Eyes that don't notice there's a dead baby on the streets
Eyes that wince when I blame no one for a dead cat
Eyes that are colorless or, like in dreams, gray
Some eyes differ from what I think eyes should be
Some are lonely-looking, but never frail
Some, thoughtful, but believe that everything is in twos.

Lilies

tear gas for the dead, time bomb of the lonely
the salient shanty of fourteen grandam fools

like a silhouette for the blind, asset of mnemonic
the usual tried aspect of a botched escape

missiles for the sorrow, ignition of the lazy
scarlet scatter of fundamental blood

saying today is never a disaster, the fathers have ways
the mistaken brevity of simplistic sheets

at the movement of the guard because you pass
passing passed past fast

movement before Jacob, worship to the lied to
whatever it means means it's ever: a ration of time

my firewall is blocked, your profile unseen
Panic to the decors! Panic to the way!

we are a fever of binaries, our schedule obscene
moss-laden capsule, I drink of day

whatever you do, do not water the lilies
do not stereotype the only bus that passed
do not summon someone's brother, there never is
anything worth summoning a brother for

akin to danger, entertained by facts
nobody comes to your retardation
nobody leaves you, nobody loves

Sunday for arrows, a lady besets the chair
the man, bacchanal, on for a riot
an uncalled for thwacking at a mother

fatless diversion, stolen memory in an open kiosk
smoking of a mom, the chugging of interfered hearts

it leaves space for more key items
it stays open for squalor of dust

here they are a walk-about like a feint
copies of copies, hold your necks from the noose

it is only a whatever it is, there never hurts
a squadron you missed

Children Who Can't Sing

these kids have trash they cannot throw
and I sell some of them
they have so much of what they have
which I don't recommend

unless you are someone like me
who sits by dark cafes
and waits the day you cannot say
we should be parting ways

which doesn't mean it will all come
in certain obvious clues
but that's better than not knowing
what ever is a bruise


so throw away, expect some more
your choice is long far gone
what now is left is rushed decay
like children who have sons