make a list
make a list of lists
speak of the unknown and relish
how weird it all is
be curious of all that is new
in your life
you deserve to read and learn
what you enjoy
and also what you don’t
if you wish

make a list
a better one

Your hair
I dreamt of it last night
but it was different
it smelled sweet like the exhaust
fumes of the old dingy buses
of my hometown
it tasted just like my first shot
of tequila on a late summer night
it looked like the blind spots I used to have
when you used to punch me in the gut.
Do you remember how we laughed?
Your dreams
I dreamt of them last night
but it was different

faces I used to know now turn pale
       as they push themselves further and further inside
       pointing in every direction

I shouldn't need so much alcohol for this
       at least not god
       floating under your gray expression

why did you stop beating? vibrating?
why would you stop sweating whenever you fall for someone?
why did you try to lift something
that must not be lifted?

why did you throw yourself in the stench of the
       town's hollow eyes?
why would you stay upfront when it is at last time
       to fall?

why did you join the grey faces?
       so that you will be shouting from the top
       of your lungs in the ears of the gods
       that now broke into hundreds of thousands
       of reflections in the mud?

even though it's useless?
       and horrible
       and your lungs give us exactly what
       we need
       but nothing more?

even though they will be careless with it
       and imperfect
even if it counts
       and it will **** you in the end?

stop now!
stop sitting with your head pushed so hard
       against your chest that
       you turn into a mosaic of the town
stop making bridges out of yourself
stop painting flowers on every piece of broken glass
and stop trying to harm
what no longer is there

even though you want it to

"dark green rose higher"

you were careless with the door,
     not knowing it will close
you stabbed it repeatedly
lust was pouring
like melted glass

your face turned into children then into sand then into bridges
and fear
and late woods
and plastic flowers

I am exhausted for myself, so
     tell me about karma so I won't fall asleep

for Hanna

"stop sitting with your head pushed so hard against yourself that you turn into a mosaic of the town"

the milk's smell fills the house that's barely made out of wood
I saw your green and white dress

your streets stretched out towards the bottom of the sound
factories closed down
towers grew silk

I feel warm when I remember how we joked about the huge paintings with golgota.
the only small one, with the park
where the branches glared upon a mother and her child,
mesmerized you
                                                             ­   (that was our child.)
                                                            
the painting was at the end of the room,
right after all the hideous canvases
and mothers.
                                                             ­   (the mother was god.)

inside the room there were
no windows                                            (no fathers.)
no hope,
no pain.

from outside I could only see the child.