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Sep 2017 · 434
Human nature introspection
Foolishness should be a crime
And a heavy crime,
It takes more of oneself than anything ever could with sharp grey razors
Penetrating flesh slowly in one's immense pleasure,
Oddly satisfying until the end comes,
                      And the end is always near
                                     As foolishness gets in touch with reality.

And what strikes me is that anyone can be a fool,
It seems to be embedded in the human DNA
                        Holding hands with corruption,
For foolishness is nothing but the corruption of oneself
At the hands of fantasy.
september 12, 2017
0:49 a.m.
Sep 2017 · 445
The cards dealt wrong
As I listen to Charlie Parker I imagine
                                                  your body pressed against mine
But you're far intangible as the night's sky.

You left no scar but a lump in my throat
                                                 excruciatingly squirming to burst
Into tears and I'll be here awake in the breakfastless morning,
Shooting gazes of rage at the wall as my coffee's brewing.

No fault on both,
Nobody's fault but my foolish heart's.
I dealt the cards and the Joker came out.
septmeber 11, 2017
1:43 a.m.
Aug 2017 · 310
The long for change
Today, for the first time in my life,
Got bored observing people.

My look at those gazeless eyes
Other times plainly happy for the shining lights.

My definition of 'shining' is not equal to their's,
Of 'success' neither.

Finally alone I felt lonely for the first time in a while,
Guess all friends are away,

Except for a few inanimated ones.
august 17, 2017
3:41 a.m.
Aug 2017 · 3.8k
Capitalistic will of fools
People people
                         they go around like pigs
                         showcasing their fancy suits
                         proclamating the biggest trend

Jewelry, then food, then them big fast automobiles

Those are the priorities by order

Getting greedy
Getting fat
Gettin' Gettin' GETTIN'
                                 In a monstruous ball of meat!
                                 With a monstruous will of plastic!
                                 Monstruously stupid!

I'm­ gettin' tired
But I'm afraid,
They are just getting started.
august 17, 2017
3:31 a.m.
Aug 2017 · 321
As the morning flourished
A couple being playful
Holding hands occasionally,
A man tuning his guitar in the sand by the sea,
A lonely woman coming back to the hotel
White plastic bag in hand,
Cars swooping the yellowed
Street silhouettes

And the man who can't sleep
Because his body's clock is upside down
Because there were 37ºC during the day
And body can't be refreshed by hot salty water
Because he dreamed and she was there,
More time than he needed
With such tenderness which couldn't be imagined

And the Mediterranean is getting bluer by the minute
And the boats now visible
And the guitar player never left the sand
And the man who can't sleep will remain awaken
By a dream which had put him to sleep.
Benidorm, Spain
august 3, 2017
6:35 a.m.
It's 5:54 a.m. and the hot salty water bashes against the sand.
Now, the first cars emerge from the night-time lights.
I see a couple,
Him white shirt
Her black shirt
Looking like tourists,
They have the same desoriented expression as I do.

Couple blocks away I watch the red neon
Blinking from the distance,
Next thing I know I'm traveling through
                    each yellow light
                    each window
                    every spit of sea foam
                    every palm tree,

On top of another hotel
I found a room with lights on, yet
No one seems to be dazzling
                         in the dark
Gazing the horizon and the dark sea
All by himself...
                                        ...besides this hopeless fool
                                        waiting for the sunrise
Benidorm, Spain
august 3, 2017
6:07 a.m.
Aug 2017 · 340
The mountains' stand
The mountains stand like giant ghosts behind the shore,
The buildings trap the sand
Their electric lights such vigilants of the sea
Motorbikes as little dispatchment troops
Cars parked as sleeping cops.

The buildings, so aware of the sea,
Forget the glory of rocky tall ghosts from beyond,
Their valleys turned shopping malls and residential areas.
Benidorm, Spain
august 3, 2017
6:45 a.m.
Aug 2017 · 386
Take a deep look
Maduro keeps Chávez's tyranny
                           own people's blood is deemed success,
Putin keeps shaking Trump's hand,
Japan is joining the dispute
While N. Korea plays cowboys' toys in its corner
                             cornering citizens,

'Terrorists' keep making the headlines
Yet, journalists are the ones spreading terror,

I just want to eat my hazelnut müesli satisfied
And turning the TV off won't help much.
july 31, 2017
3:18 p.m., Home
Jul 2017 · 500
She doesn't need
Nurturing holy Mother why don't you stand
                                          for your fallen brethren,
                                                                     choped in half
                                                                     disposed of their prideful height?

You seem to wait, though it's not patience you have.
It's sure,
You have it all sought and won
You don't seek
                  We do foolishly,
                  trying to transform you but in the end,

In the end you rise imponent
                           your majestocity as phoenix among ashes...
...our ashes.
july 22, 2017
4:34 p.m.
small among nature
Jul 2017 · 479
Titles are useless
I'm a man of the night
I've been branded
My poetry serves no purpose to the world.
I've not been branded a hero,
I've'd seen how those all end:
                    Unquestionable statues of bronze or gold
                  or rather forgotten,
              disposed after 2 weeks of fame after-death.
I want neither.
I'm no hero, no. I'm no gigantic bearded poet
                                         Hemingway shot himself
                                                         ­       I couldn't muster courage
                                         or decandence.

I. made. to.
Shoulder to shoulder.
Serving my servers.
Out of love.
I carry. As they carry.
              as I get. Carried.
As one shelters me this moment;
As other. Eloquent. Frightening. Dashing and Proud.
                 as she said;
                 titles are in fact...
july 22, 2017
3:27 a.m., Zibreiros
Humans are capable of the biggest hypocritical ideas.
They don't do it on purpose
Yet we do it.

Some love others more than they love themselves.
Well, I believed I also did
Yet it is not quiet so.

Think well about it, I love until I bleed and even more after that!
Well, I believe in love more than most do
Yet, should I quit my dreams for it, should you?

                               Would I blow my brains out, would you?
                               Is this even a question you're allowed to make?

I believe, I've learn, I've seen
And love is learning to love another by learning to love yourself,
Love is synching your dreams with others' dreams,
Love is bending and straining to reach out to the other,
                                                      to share the pain
                                                      to lick the bruises
                                                      to laugh whole in harmony because you found IT
                                                      to be insane but never feel suicidal.

To love is to burn together
Not to blow apart for one another.
july 14, 2017
0:54 a.m.
People have no idea what they are dealing with,
People don't know and don't want to know
What truly surrounds them,
                                If they did
                                They'd wish they wouldn't know.
                                They want a quiet life
                                A bread on the table
                                And cable TV.

Thing is, people are not themselves.
People were taught to be people by people who were manipulated and made people
                                                                            by people who didn't know what they were,
People look at a baby
And worry more of making him a 'people' of their own
Than to ask:
'Who are you?'
july 12, 2017
1:57 a.m.
Jul 2017 · 317
Yummy tummy (Haiku)
If I don' live
What am I gonna die for?
july 10, 2017
2:34 a.m.
Jul 2017 · 368
Dreary and weary
An impulse from the gut
I am mentally driving and screaming to the desert plains
                          like a mental coyote,

Dry mouth, sour tongue
I'm begging for some relief
And all I get is this ******* conventional life
And rules.

I want the wind, the drought, the sun
                                                     the stars
                                                     the dirt
                                                     the road
                                                     the sweat
                                                     the ***
                                                     the steaming muscles
                                                     the burning skin
Or just the night,

And its yellow moon to bloom in me
And ******* away.
(That's all I ask.)
july 10, 2017
2:28 a.m.
A poem a day
A poem away
From driving my tears away.

A poem someday
A poem a way
To make up colors from grey.

A poem sometimes
A poem that rhymes
The look of a man counting his dimes,

                 That look from me
                 That look of him
                 Figuring out what's grimm

A poem in time
A poem at night
An ode to freedom out of fright.

A poem to scorch
A poem to heal
To change the world or know what's real.

Although, what's your deal?
july 9, 2017
6:10 a.m.
The clear stream chuckles
And the mountain opens itself to my gaze,
Lik'a woman, lonely, powerful.

The misty mysterious haze covers
Its top and I wonder,
'Why is it so blue at dawn?'

I wish time stopped there for a long moment

Seems as if I'm the last man alive,
Strangely, I'm quiet happy with it
It's not as melancholic as I thought it would be.
july 9, 2017
6:00 a.m.
Sprung to the road
                   Had coffee in the moonlight

Her, photographing,
                              The strap pulling her hair in an exquisite way
                              On her knees like a tiny elf
                              Illuminated by yellow street candles,

It was a summer night and the wind was gentle.

It was an odd night
                 In the odd same city as always
                             Oddly comfortable.

The coffee left a bitter taste

Yet the car drove us sweet and joyful
                    Through the yellow painted night.
july 5, 2017
1:20 a.m.
Jul 2017 · 368
Safe and comfortable
When I go on the bus
I always sit at the back
So I can watch the whole of it,

Well, sad thing is I always go over the engine
And if it blows up
I'm the first to go.

We're never safe and comfortable, are we?
july 3, 2017
4:38 p.m.
Love is a not war
But against ourselves,

A will changing
Passion lifter
Bone breaking
Hand scarring
Feet burning,

It has not much to do with the heart
As it slices our brain in half
And we love it
Like loony maniacs who never had a cookie in their lifetime.
july 3, 2017
1:18 p.m.
Jul 2017 · 364
Love is so much more...
There are more stinky love poems than anything else.

Even I have written too many
Even I have written 1, sometimes, 2 full pages
But soaking the paper with tears.
Some go different, go joyful
And why?
Because love is easy to write about
It is the most powerful emotion only equal to hatred
Yet the most boring;
Unless it comes with anything attached
I yawn at those pesky stanzas of repeating gibberish.

Those who vainly describe love itself are cowards
Those who read them morbidly curious
And those who enjoy weak of mind,
For inftuated poems are the equivalent to a pop song
                                  easy to construct
                                  easy to deconstruct
                                  easy to marvel
                                  easy to cry at
                                  easy easy easy
                                  nothing new nothing learned

'O the perfect skin', 'O the glittering eyes', 'O the cheeky smile',

If you want to write about love put some mustard into it
And make it real
Don't waste my time, all lovers are marvelous I get it,

But what scars do they have?
And how many do they leave us with?
july 3, 2017
12:43 a.m.
Jul 2017 · 523
Sincerety has aligned me with the wrong path
                                             to love
                                             to success
                                             to glory,

It certainly draws the potential of freedom and truth
                                yet at the cost of shattering every chance of a quiet life,

Even the freedom it brings is only of oneself's mind

                                     We have no control
                                     We, the sincere,  
                                     Shall not have our names sang,
                                     Yet they will ring for centuries

In the ears of the many who never spoke for themselves.
july 3, 2017
12:33 a.m.
Jul 2017 · 327
Finding IT
What are your wettest dreams?
What makes your legs tremble at 4 a.m.
Just to wake with a head shaking with shame
With your heart still burning from the night hazy visions
                   Your arms still tingling
                             Your toes still curled?

Forget women and ***
I'm asking you something worth of Argonauts
Astronauts if you need to modernize,
Just don't apologize and tell me now
Actually don't,

Speak to yourself
Actually don't speak
                don't think
Just break that fake stern face they make you wear.

Liberate your *****
Let the poem *** inside your mind
Break the four walls
                  and the 40,000 you have created

Block only your need for bathroom
                                             and *** (again)
                                             and trouble
                                             and comfort

Hold your heart with your right hand

And your ***** with the left

And scream the name the place the time and you'll find what you're lookin' for.
july 1st, 2017
5:26 a.m.
I wait here
I sit comfortable
With the most uncomfortable awating.

I don't wait for anything in particular,
Maybe I'm just getting psychotic
Or just now fully understanding what an artist does
In particular a writer,
                          The bleed
                                  The invisible wounds
                                          The drinking
                                                 The foul sour mood.

I haven't been drinking that much
I've exercised like a maniac
And that might explain my couple-day-break from writing.

**** this
***** all the poems
Smash those beers
Even break my guitar

Just don' leave me waiting in vain.
Come with me, let's split the world into angels and demons
Let's blame them all
Let's play like little brats
Let's let the soul shine brilliantly
Let's smile, laugh and cry in the summer rain

Come bleed with me.
july 1st, 2017
3:56 a.m.
Jun 2017 · 375
An introspection
There's a tiger in my crotch
An iguana on my ***
And I'm not sure if to stand up
Or stay put like a reptile at the sun,

I'd be better off killing those two.
And I might do it,
If not, I might end up turning into a circus house
And live like a clown.
Learning to be myself
june 25, 2017
Jun 2017 · 353
Free reason man
Ancient gods beat endless tender minds,
Simple empty sleeping.

Human touch *******
Save dark heart,
                   Power burning stars forgot skin
Constructed from consecutive chosen words in my 'words' section... even the title.
Jun 2017 · 837
The way you dazzle me
It was never this easy
            Never this easy to cry
But the sorrow haunts me
And the thought of not having you
                is enough
                          to break walls and shatter constelations.

Yet, I don't want any of that
                             Except you
And your mad smile
And waking up electryfied with the sight
                             of your ******* and the smell of eggs cooked
First thing in the morning
june 23, 2017   10:32 a.m.
Jun 2017 · 383
Sincere love letter
I feel like I know nothing at all
And yet what I know tells me to experience and prove myself right or wrong and I'll start with you

I don' give a **** about what people say it's good,
I'm sick of law: moral law, judicial law, school law
**** that

I want you

If I didn't why would I give up all the 'freedom' of choice between millions of girls in the world for you?
'Cause you have IT!

I mean I don't care how many hoes, ladies, girls, women come...
You have something and I love you for that and for all the things you think and all the crazy li'l' brat-like plays you do and that cheeky smile and that **** cat walk that is half-joking with all those millions of girls you are more than but yet unknowingly and all humble and shining, **** thinking I want you!


You won't get that from thinking and love is experience, what more is it?
february 19, 2017
6:37 a.m.
Old one I really wanted to share
Jun 2017 · 538
2 a.m. self-derision
I feel like I feel I should feel
                   all but this,
                                this uneasiness

I think like I think I should think
                     very much more,
                               much more clearly

I should even fake it
                or make it go away,

For it is love who's making me uneasy.
Love's always a "who"
june 23, 2017 2:21 a.m.
Jun 2017 · 370
From within
Forget what they ALL say
Forget origin common sense and mood and fashion,
Forget the human in you and unleash your unique inner species,
Light your heart with electricity from the skies
                                       wetness from the rain
                                        rough grains from the land
                                        And BE!

Just be, become endless,
Enjoy the sunlight and forget the smoke
They got thrown in your eyes.
Jun 2017 · 413
When you are passionate,
When you don't want it,
When you don't long for it.
When you NEED it
When the night calls your name
When you are the only person alive
When your consciousness begins to enflame
When your eyes collide with the stars
When your head spins yet focuses on one point
When your spirit is not a spirit and you are one with your body
When your arms are machines steaming and burning with glory
When your legs are a rocketship light-speed towards the moon
When you are the ARCHANGEL you always hoped for and never appeared
When it all vanishes and you are trapped only by that NEED

When you are ONE with the adrenaline which burns your veins into infinity
When you are your own GOD
When you are thirsty tired broken yet keep going,

When your passion renders you complete.
june 22 2017
Jun 2017 · 362
"O victory forget your underwear we're free"...
Yet we all keep our genitals intact, immaculate, in closure
Inside flannel suits and ties and shirts and microphones
And all of that ******* we created called modesty and decency
Oh...and kindness
Kindness is no more than a way to keep our will from funcioning
Modesty and decency no more than ways to keep our
                                             love from being free

And if love can't be free, what else can?
Quote from "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg
Jun 2017 · 888
Contradistinguish flame
I am electron
You are positron
I am moon
You are sun
Me, winter
You, summer

Yet continuosly turning in a dynamo twist
Burning, cooling, forgetting our places and time

We forgot, totally forgot.
This is the rule of the Universe:
The opposites are destined
To make the world go round
And shake it
Tremble it
In a bursting ball of passionate fire!
Jun 2017 · 556
On touching her soul
I want to reach down your skirt and bring
                             The souvenir of the gods

I want to ****** your voice
                                With a silent kiss
Let me bring you joy and slip my hands through
                                Your bleeding fingers of working too much.

I will run my fingertips down your back
And feed you my touching love,
                      I want to touch your sweaty soul again.
Jun 2017 · 405
Like a shipwreck
Without you is without the sun
And the moon isn't there
To watch me in the night,

Without you is unbearably strange
Like a fallen arm
An empty rage,

Without you is heartless and odd
Sinking in bed
Stranded thought,

Without you my poems rhyme
Aren't the same
And the smell of your hair...

...the touch of our lips,
Our first kiss in the car
The endless nights awake

With your love.
june 19 2017
Jun 2017 · 298
The ultimate cure
Tried everything,
Only a mother's love can mend
A broken heart,
And feed an empty soul.
Jun 2017 · 393
Endless love
I am yours.
I have no choice and I don't want to choose,
I am yours.
In your womb started the journey,
I am yours.
Besides any hate or stumble and our great disagreements,
I am yours.
Not because you made me, because you fed me your holy milk and the serum of words,
I am yours.
Through every night awake I always thought of you,
I am yours.
You are as sincere as a sharp blade and I love it,
I am yours.
I have never cried for a woman the way I cry for you,
I am yours, my first teacher, my eternal goddess.
To my mother 14 june 2017
Jun 2017 · 713
Bittersweet poetry
Bittersweet poetry why you call me at night
Sleeping just to make me ***** your holy ink.

Bittersweet poetry I'm only a child let me be
Don't mess this innocence you don't know.

All right I'm as innocent as you
Let me at least hold my breath
And after my bleed in thy honor, rest.
Jun 2017 · 273
The innocent burn
Burn ancient burn on the sweet child's
For he has yet to conquer the world
And his father's rhymes.
He won't rhyme though he is free
And like all free men
The ancient roar will smile in his face
                            Pure as a flower
                                    Proud as the sun
                                              Soft as the rain.

Electrifying like a brainwave
He shall surpass his fathers
And build his own empire
                        Where he shall perish
Yet free as his son too will be,
Dreaming in clouds of fire.
Jun 2017 · 657
Haiku (Raw Sweat)
The fresh paint leaks
It is not a painting
Naked in bed.
Man is nature, raw and satisfied.
Absence is the name we give to things which are always there
Places people memories and jokes turned sorrow
To the same man's eyes.

They keep poking and getting toes to scratch the calf
And head to explode in a bursting shooting of images
                       And smells
                                 And touches
                                          And sensations you never knew you had.

Absence is the dread-full page
                          Of a poem written
                                   Laying on a dead man's face.
That moment
When her lips are your favourite lollipop
And her skin tastes like ice cream melting in your tongue,
The flavour drools godly juice.

That moment when the rythm are two beating hearts,
The winds outside take over
And you take shelter sheltering her.
Jun 2017 · 260
Shrines of power
The shrines of power ask every citizen for a dime.
Monumental, omnipowerful yet always needy-greedy
Minions, minions help them out!

Careless, conventional and extra-conservative they shout:
'Extra! Extra! Drop your money, you'll be richer!'
'Put your money on the shrine, mumbo-jumbo'll save your life!'

It won't save your sanity though.
Jun 2017 · 344
A moment with the dark
Each lives inside everyone;

We have little versions of others  pumping hearts
Sharing words with us;
An image, well more than that,
                           It's as if each one
                           Was a poem, a half-living poetry in motion
                           And it's good to talk with those.

Yet sometimes I have to put them all out to sleep,
Sometimes I need a moment with the dark.
Jun 2017 · 378
A rocket ship from 1944
Himself a machine,
Like a cool train
Like a moving rollercoaster
Like a ravaging mechanical animal

Iron oil and rust,
Pulsating boiling blood
Bursting brilliantly.
To my grandfather
Jun 2017 · 411
To await you is unbearable
I see all the colours and the
                     Shapes  leaves can turn into

I feel the rough wood of a gentle tree
                          Scratch the moss around its trunk
                                               Getting it under my nails

I touch your skin your hair your lips
                                Look at you in the eyes to gaze your joyful expression.

But all this in thought as I
              Lay down in bed my hair dying on sorrow pillows
Jun 2017 · 177
Serious beat up
The jazz man,
Beaten up in his own bar
Needing rescue yet the bass won't be playin' fo' him tonite.

Dragged down,
Into the street raging
Unable to move from the pain the wound,
                                                     Grinding his teeth
                                                           ­           twistin' turnin'.

Looks as if dancin',
Speaks a language only he knows
Grunting spitting blood and at certain time laughing his own misery down.
Jun 2017 · 434
Matters put simple
They make up for you the human condition
They create the world, how it came up,
And put matters simple
They oppress and suppress thought
Rendering it brittle
They constantly tie you to the ground
To the rotten roots grown in hatred.

Saints appear all over the place
                        Yet GOD is the only idol
                        And humans equally special...they say;
They propagate and infect children with their diseased minds
                             Yet 'belief is liberating'
                             And never CORRUPT and pure.

Oh father, sweet sweet 'padre',
I almost forgot:
                            How many infants have you devoured lately?
Dedicated to all the rotten "souls" of the church
Jun 2017 · 410
It is a bitter thing
Love will not save you
It won't save anyone,
Ask any cardiologist.

It is a bitter thing, love
And every feeling that traps you
In ecstasy tying you to another soul.

Never more blissful than the effort  it takes
To handle,
The gut screams, the heart fails.

The spirit laughs.
Jun 2017 · 222
The simple loving mind
Woman at home,
Woman at home is different from woman at work.

At work,
At work she's vicious, tenacious, irresistably precise and cold.

At home,
At home she's lovely, tender creature speaking verses in each simple word.

Not just women,
Not just women, as men can be as vicious but never as tender.

Never as tender,
Never as tender, for he has yet to understand the meaning of love.

Although, women don´t bother understand,
They only love and are marvelous at it.
Jun 2017 · 181
The mojo man stands again
Run, roam, go
And get doped on scent
Of jazz and midnight flow,
The afternoon creep was never heard
And the nauseating sun yet to be seen...

Sense the night, the million souls within,
Become the endless body and soul,

You are the only
The holy
The great,
A dazzling star in a fearful night.
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