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.

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.

How they fake
How they copy
How they fear
How they dream scared dreams in tears.

How they drink from bored mugs
How they live like slugs
How they make money cigarettes
How they pray for money bags

How they crave recognition
How they bend for the system
How they brag ignorance
How they weep romance

How they shove it up their *****
How they're continuously embarrassed
How they play the game
How they never blame

How they praise intuition
How they preach superstition
How they form their private cliques
How they corporate religion´

Will this joke ever end?
Sorry, no, I will not bend.

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.

If I don' live
What am I gonna die for?
Bread?

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.

Tried everything,
Only a mother's love can mend
A broken heart,
And feed an empty soul.

The bearded man sleeping on the park bench
An old man,
His walking stick leaning and his bag in between crossed arms.

He didn't have a smile though he was sleeping a rested sleep with his face unconstricted below the shadow of the tall city hall;
Hidden from the summer heat which came early,
Not hidden from looks,
Not caring at all.

The old man holding his half-grey beard with an expression as cool as the breeze.

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.

Into the deep night I jump,
I become involved in her perfume,
In her sorrow...
She just keeps me captive,
Draws me like a magnet.

Not that I don't want that...
She makes me captain of the seas,
Astronaut on the weirdest ship,
Shot like an arrow light-speed,
She makes every impossible and intangible star
Seem like a common rock,
She makes my heart feel like nothing at all,
No pulse, no body, no rational mind...
I live for the experience
Merely spectator of my own existence...

Paradoxes: regular facts,
Time-travel: normal walk through the park,
Entering a state of nothingness:
The trivial awake of every morning...

And so I soar,
And so I let
The sky drive me,
And then the stars and the quasars,
As my existence fades away
Becoming  the matter and energy that
Will be the stars of tomorrow,
Will be fuel running the engines of a spaceship,
Will be electrons and fire,
Will be the echo of a planet's magnetic field,
Will be, lately, the ancient roar of light
From the edge of a blackhole,
The limbo zone expressing the rage of the fallen,
Will be ghosts and gods and angels
Inside the mind of a child,
Who will one day become just a story-telling bartender...
Will be the ashes of a nuclear explosion,
Will be the rotting mob of a lifeless planet,
Will be the burns on the skin of a suffering mother,
Will be light reflected in the eyes
Of a hopeless homeless,

Will no longer be cosmic,
Will no longer thrive and survive,
Will decay and never again see the day
Rising in its exuberance,
As the whole world dies,
Forgotten...
And the light in the stars stays on.

Burn ancient burn on the sweet child's
Eyes
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.

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.

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?

I am not here for a reason.
I have a reason because I am here,
And don't start drawing your conclusions or jumping on me;
Reason was not bestowed upon me
There were no gods meddling my own businesses.
Reason was owned, earned and passed on by those,
At least some of those who share my blood.

Then there were some trying to fool them, to fool me,
Yet, I am not here for a reason,
I have a reason because I am here
I've earned it, I said it.

Leave your imaginary salvation heroes, happy self-degrading and sexless humorless slaves and martyrs.

As also --- and I am truly sorry for this ---
You are not here for a reason,
You have a reason, a passion, a drive, a **** provocative imaginative mind because you are here
You've earned it, **** it.

And if you don't have is because you are not looking enough.

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.

See me waiting for you at the bus station
Think of me waiting for you naked in your bed
Dream of me writing poetry with my tongue under your skirt.

See me writing a poem in class
Think of me running the rainy street towards your room
Dream of me desperately designing all possible number of perfect circles IN your body.

See me kissing you goodnight
Think of me holding you at 5 after midnight ride
Dream of us naked sailing to Hawaii the ocean blue and the blue moon moves the tide, swearing to your ear unimaginable '*****' words.

They wouldn' let us, wouldn' do, would be too ***** for them,
For they don' have the burning desire of being human.

Dark skinned face the whitest beard
Hobo style fishing hat and brown scarf
Full jacket on,
'My legs aren't what they were.' he realizes
As he drops off the bus smiling
His eyes gazing somewhere
Sometime beyond present.
Plastic bag on his hand
Hands straining but relaxed,
End of poem.

The beauty of a dancer,
Carefully spinning,
Light, soft, smooth as silk,
Moving at the rythm of vibrating air particles...

Nothing like a bird or a swan,
More like a free indian making an ode
An ode to freedom, to feeling without thinking
Into bringing sadness to an end.

Sometimes making a quick turn simulating restraint,
Yet always ending as it began:
Pure, free, dynamic,
Light blue...

A leaf swinging in the wind
And the sense of lightness that it brings,
As the curtains slowly fall down on her.

You and me,
We are different from other people,
Victims of the same experiment,
Sufferers of the same cataclysm
Lost in the same food for thought,
Rainbow-skinned aliens with antennas and crystal hearts...

Yet, let the wind take over and ride it,
Let the drive which makes your heart burst
Be your fuel,
And let it burn inside you until you've got nothing left to burn...

Let's stop pretending,
Let's not be lab rats anymore,
Let us be more than humans
Let us dream and grab and have peace of mind...
Let's **** the scientists one by one
And finally reach infinity
While experiencing the last brief moment of consciousness
With only a smile.

Eyes of a flaming bird, red face and thick gorilla eyebrows,

He got off his truck, closed the door with vigor
I could see his amused yet direct gaze staring at the shop window,
                         A perfect combination of fine art and unentangled wisdom in relaxation,
                                            Sure, authentic, upbeating.
A transparent window among a crowd of mirrors.

I'm really sick of law
of telling me what to do
of telling me where to go;

Sick of time, of counting time
Sick of all the adventures I could have
but stay home take care
Same little same bed
It isn't big enough;
A large boulder would suffice better as a bed
In a desert or a plain I don't care.

I want get new fluids up and down my body law doesn't cope
I want excessive alcohol, excessive hugs, excessive moolight
I want it so excessively I want to ***** it
Spread it
Swallow it
And **** it all again
At once!
All at the same time!
I want starvation drunkness under the moon
I want sweating under the sun on the desert plains
I want not bathing and howling on the dirt
Animals would be ashamed
And so be it
I want beat this world and the other and be beaten by it.

Send me some *******' postcards of your places

I wanna visit them all!

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.

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,
Gleam.

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

My life is a blank
I cannot get myself out of bed I'm frightened.
I feel terrorized by my potential and possibilities;

My life is bending
Backwards and I cannot help it I'm embarassed.
I feel my limbs in pain for sleeping too much;

My head is getting empty
I'm a farce, an unintelligent man one more for the crowd.
I lost the ability to be.

My knee stings
               My back curls
                            I need to move a little,
                            I need to go
                                       Feel the wind, even brittle.
Fall down
              Back up
Push it away and make it.
Don't you know?
Same as ever,
               Lightweight dynamic whistle.

...Sweating I fall down
                   And let the clouds lift me up.

End of april break of may
Music humming in mind scratching
My stomach, lightly yet
Enough to send burning adrenaline, hormone which makes me
Whistle.

Coffee well taken on a wooden table
With friends laughing generously
Silly jokes make the air more breathable,
Back to lunch
Writing this poem on the cafeteria
Thinking of you and your broken smile.

Fools live obsessed by lives they don't have
                      fake fantasies
                               sweet dreams
                                          yet at night they shake with fear;
Slugging vomitin' 'n' ******* from their mouths
                                "truths" and "worries"
                                            with their "beliefs"
                                                     Oh so sensitive;
******* on thumbs with their small hands they go
                                            happy they bought that car
                                                         **** because of lipstick
                                                                  intelligent as they bark trash.

You could all be ******* me instead, you'd do a better job.