style is the answer to everything --
a fresh way to approach a dull or a
dangerous thing.
to do a dull thing with style
is preferable to doing a dangerous thing
without it.

Joan of Arc had style
John the Baptist
Christ
Socrates
Caesar,
Garcia Lorca.

style is the difference,
a way of doing,
a way of being done.

6 herons standing quietly in a pool of water
or you walking out of the bathroom naked
without seeing
me.

As we fight against time,
Only your scent survives.
I half remember your smile,
Some ideas too,
The shape of your *******,
The size of your *******,
Some of the marks on your naked skin.
The smell of your armpit appears in my memory,
Your mouth after countless cigarettes,
Some tobacco,
Some cannabis.
The scent of your perfume
Mixed with salty sweat.
That musk around your belly button
And the smell of waking up with sour kisses,
To much ***** the night before.
I can't remember your eyes,
I had to leave.

You don't feel real being with me,
Without me,
In the distance,
Of a kiss.
We don't want future,
But the present
Of you
And I
Tastes good,
As it should taste,
You know?
What do I know anyway,
But you're real,
As much as I am.
Only lonely I imagine
A future,
That's not real,
Between expressions,
And the present
Disappears between meaningless words,
It fades away when I try to reach it,
It drains through my soul,
Between the grooves of my brain
Leaving me empty handed,
Struggling with the balance of having you,
Now,
For ever,
Never.
We get lost,
Between kisses and fears,
Unfinished plans,
Unkept promises,
Predictions and intentions
Only future expressions.

A blue eyed woman stabbed me with her eyes,
She was asking for some help,
A ring was stuck in her finger.
Many volunteered to assist,
Many failed.
I avoided those knives
Eyes,
I didn't want to get stabbed again,
Until I got lost in the blue.
I can't stop looking at the ocean
On a clear day.
So I offered assistance
To remove the band
From her hand
And replace it with another one,
But she laughed
And left.
Stabbed again,
Bleeding out,
I will never learn,
If only I was color blind.

Your eyes tell me to kiss you,
So I come to you and say kiss me
You don't say yes,
But you don't say no
And I get lost in the body language.
I thought I knew how to read it,
But the wine says otherwise,
So I say kiss me again,
Yet you tell me you're not ready,
For I haven't said you're beautiful enough,
I don't say another phrase,
Nor do I try a different approach,
I remain true to what I read from you
Towards me,
I might be wrong,
It wouldn't be the first time,
I daresay neither the last.

I cross the same bridge everyday,
There are always the same people,
With their different purposes,
Or is it the same?

Today I saw God begging for a coin,
On the bridge.
Nobody looked at him,
I guess they were mad,
So was I.

I came to God and slapped his face,
He understood and didn't fight back,
I hit him for everything,
Like an ant that escapes from the farm,
After several minutes I remembered that I don't believe in God,
Not this guy with a beard anyway,
So I stopped and continued my way.

I returned for a last punch in the face,
Just in case.
This reminded me of my first fight with Tyler.

As I light up
This last blonde cigarette,
I think of music,
Of boats sailing through smoke,
Smog.
Stars that fall in the ocean,
Cosmonauts drifting through space,
Their ship destroyed
Like a mother who has given birth.
Memories of photographs.
I think of her
As usual.