If I were to try to fly, I would need a rather high place to jump from. I know I'll never fly, not really, but I can play pretend while I drop to my certain death.
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 9:38 PM UTC
It's very easy to **** an ant. However, I'll never be able to get to the brink of an abyss and just continue. Walking down the vertical wall like it's nothing.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 3:04 PM UTC
I would like to be home by midnight.
She paused, no longer so sure about the fit
of that crystal slipper on my hairy foot.
Not to worry, my dear. Just make sure to close
the closet door when you leave.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
So, I've discovered she does like poetry.
Only, she likes other poetry, not mine.
It's not that I need her to like
what I write (I mostly don't either).
What bites is that she don't like
what I write about her.
Love is also an artistic impresion, you see?
We only like the art that affects us.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
You are very human after all;
when it comes down to it, you
also like the music of bottles,
and of friends, lost, lost, the faces
facing the night, leaving souls,
living grose, grose. Very human,
getting your **** together before sunrise,
and losing your soul through the day,
eternal soldier, ready for a second helping.
Ok, time’s up!
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
There is no one around.
No one betting the life over a dream,
no one over there at the races, chasing tails,
and no one at the dock watching the ships sail
while the sun drowns in the horizon.
No one around is looking at you leaving
today, and waiting for a comeback.
Standing beside the tombs, insane,
still, and finally grabbing one last piece of sanity
from the silence of my bones.
Now, there is no one here, only the trees over,
the earth all around, and my words,
waiting for the next presence of life.
And this life is someone else's, is
insanity's nearness when everyone answers,
all the voices at the same time,
everybody's truth crushing yours,
all the love, and the hatred, a lightning and a thunder,
voices speaking, voices asking,
all the words that you must hear.
Walk toward my grave, and around, and over,
and if you dare lay down with me, let me
embrace the tender of your skin.
Now, nobody but you and me, for a moment,
before I return to dust and memories,
and before you go back to your future.
Go back to it, before you lose your legs, or all
your will or, even worse, before you decide to stay.
There are no more apples for you, I don’t own
your past, only my memories, like you own yours.
Our words might be alike but their meaning lies
inside, deep, within each throat, unspoken,
unspeakable and unreachable.
Choke on my words, I will drown in yours,
the tip of my fingers scraping from below,
reaching for your flowery hands.
Now, I possess myself, you have your breath of life,
make my silence your home, for a brief moment,
dig until you graze my fleshless name.
Call it, if nobody answers it’s me, answering
from everybody's mouths, with all the voices.
To hear my words you only need to sit quiet over me.
It’s lonely, it’s tomorrow as you haven’t yet imagined it,
prepare for me, repent if you want, it’s indifferent,
I’ll be answering you anyway, I’m already
loving the world empty of us.
I still want so much more of you, to rob you,
**** your every last strength, until you see
with my eyes, amazed by the beauty.
Can this be the truth? This is the land I promise,
the only promised land a defeated god can dream of,
and can give as a wedding gift.
It’s my world, ordinary. Yours is much luminous,
and brighter, once you open your eyes,
and break through the nightmare, and go out
to find that everybody is waiting, living like you,
good times rolling, high above the trash,
getting together at the races, and at the dock
to see the ships, and the sun emerging triumphant.
One night you dreamt, it was a bad one,
only that, about a grave, silent words calling,
and the sound of hands digging up, reaching for you.
Believe in it, in the dream, but also in you,
as I’ve believed in me, and for a moment,
almost scraped the surface of heaven.
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC
Destiny is a miserable creature
with a mouthful of sharp teeth
hiding behind a smile, yours.
Yes, you. Unsuspecting.
With a bit of happiness hiding
behind that adorable smile.
If only it would bite.
As I said, miserable
and cruel creature.
All this blood wasted,
turning into vinegar.
It burns.
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
I will look at the clock again,
and again, tomorrow. And again
I will notice how late I come,
how old is my love, how old.
And I will look at the clock again
and will leave and you'll stay.
And the sea will also stay and I
will look at the clock again
and you'll stay with the day,
and tomorrow will be today,
and you'll stay, and I'll be gone.
But if I'd come earlier I wouldn't
have find you either,
have loved you either,
have need you either.
I wouldn't have what?
I wouldn't need a sword
to cut time in half.
I'll look at the clock again,
and again, tomorrow. And again
he will smile, mockingly.
All the same, I will look.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
Tales of what will happen next,
in the streets, in the heads,
in the cigarette buts, and in the red
flowers. Is better not to know
what we really are. Life's easier
when you don't know where
the sadder songs come from.
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 12:13 PM UTC
It's Sunday, that I know. Also that
the new year will start on the same day
as the new week will, it seems appropriate.
Not that that would make any difference,
we will get confused anyway.
With all the promises in the air,
like the tiny ghosts of unborn
children that will bring laughter
into our lives, supposedly.
That is, unless you are old enough
as to not to promise anything anymore,
we are very much aware that the first person
that will get disappointed will be ourselves.
All of those who will be coming back home
tomorrow, to fight for what we think
is best for us, all of us who will be starting
the year with ash running out from our hands,
still sentimentally moved by the same songs,
old dogs trying to learn new tricks
but failing miserably, as we let time
run out. We all will be there.
Maybe the me from five years ago will no longer
recognize himself. He will be here to,
confused, afraid, and looking into the future.
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC