I try to take a walk, I try to close
My eyes; I try to leave behind
The things I see as lies; the ones
You see with daily eyes, but I give up;
It's just so ******* beautiful.

I try to get as drunk as Man can get,
I dream of drugs to throw my soul as
Far away from all of it and name it
****, but it's just too *******
Beautiful.

I try to burn the discs and files with
All the knowledge my father has
Collected of our history, but ****, it
Means too much to me, and it's just
So ******* beautiful.  

Last week we found a paper at the
Site, from '93 and who'd believe
The thickness and the price of
Mobiles that were barely that,
Back then. I try to

Feel ashamed when my girl's youth
Is my lack thereof  
But we laugh together and that just
Makes it 'nice and old' and just so
**** beautiful.

I only barely saw the seventies; the
Tiniest pants I ever wore were
Bell-bottoms.
They were so
*******
Beautiful.

ask your blood
your limbs, your breathing feet
what Poetry is -
a phylogenetic anomaly
in light’s discontinuity

or just…
the strange yearning of hematopoiesis

ask the silence in your lungs
the bursting DNA, reinterpreted
how it allures memory inside your bones
how it treads conventions of sleep
with the weight of a sigh

if you ask me
what Poetry is
I’d say: breath calligraphy
a winged dream of depth
on enchanted retina
the bitter-sweet art of airy harmony

ask your hands
what Poetry is
perhaps they’ll take a moment
to bloom

I was at the entrance
of the high-rise apartments
and I phoned my grandma upstairs
and she offered me her instructions:
“Well, Josie…I’m at 354
you got to hit the green, square button
with your elbow
at the entrance where you are;
and I’ll release open the glass doors
and then go to the lift on the right
and punch the button with your elbow
and then get in and punch 3
with your elbow
and then when you are up on 3
look for Unit 54
and punch on its button with your elbow
and I’ll open the door”

“OK, easy, grandma…
But why am I punching all these
buttons with my elbow?”

“What?” my grandma screamed.
*“You mean you are coming empty-handed?”

I sat at a table with Death.
I ate from his plate while he
Pinched from my snus.
We were drinking, and not unamused.
He was quite a good listener; took in
Every word.
He laughed at my jokes, and my
Stories he heard
With a keeness about him,
Charisma and charm,
So far from a force of such terror
And harm?
Not once did he hint at my life or my
Soul.
He paid for my drinks and for
Every bowl of
Nachos they served as we sat
Through the night.
Laughing and sharing until
The first light.
The best of my times. As if on
My request.
Then Death sat his cup down, put
Thumb to his chest.
Belched and stood up, took his scythe
And said: "Boy,
You went as you wanted; with
Beverage and joy.
Now leave every worry, forget
Each regret.
Come home and lay down, you have
Earned right to rest.
No second of Life that you lived,
You'll forget.
I sat at a table with Death.

I banged my head on the shelf exactly
     half an hour after
     I´d taken an aspirin
for my hangover.
Didn´t feel a thing.

Even human hands
Unclench
In spring.

Calyx
Fingers.

Look: This flower
Opens to offer; this
To recieve.

Bow the **** down, get on your knees.
Pray for mercy, it's the reckoning.

The blackness is coming, its rolling in fast.
A torrential **** storm, my hate on full blast.
You've really done it now, time to reap what you've sown.
This is what happens when you leave me alone
to stir
and fester
giving me time to perfect my anger
towards you.

Look at your creation,
a ******* abomination.