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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

Nurturing holy Mother why don't you stand
                                          for your fallen brethren,
                                                                     burned
                                                                     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.

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.

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!

E-x-p-e-r-i-e-n-c-e

You won't get that from thinking and love is experience, what more is it?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.
               Stand.
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...

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

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

Roads stretch for miles,
The city lights seem lonely
and 27 like an ominous number

I search my head for answers,
Though thoughts about age and time
seem pointless

I wonder what the stars think of their mortality,
Does it also seem like a short time?
Is someone also stealing their time?
Does it feel like a rush?
Do they also feel small?
Can their gigantic heat generate as much joy as it illudes us to?

There is no point in wondering
Yet wondering puts my mind to ease...

....I wonder why

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