despised love struck
amazonian charcoal eating poems:

writing asleep getting back from a party
from nowhere to nowhere.
cool blue speedometer for a fast track racing machine
called 'My Heart in two'.

get rid of the missiles, we're surrendering:

goodbye grab my hand stab my thigh
kiss me or dance me
sharp corners and the best of my days:

ice skating on winter's wet dreams
soaked in whisky or petrol
i'm kind of
spooky
right now
but i love you as my teeth claw my flesh
blood black like the ears of the night.

urgent hours begin to bud;
bubble bath and the trace of a marker
like a glowing lipstick
between
the endlessness of space and the sacred nothing.

down a dirt road at midnight
with our headlights off
light pink mangroves
and flashing forward black razors;
dive back to creamy moonlight
creepy gold ringed hand
channeling
a noice:
ball of soil falling to the floor;
the voice of a secret languaje
the voice of a silent languaje
un lenguaje secreto
a process to name Fear;
beauty untamed still ill
purpled nodding dusk
it's a dream or stolen from a dream;
handled spotlight and
         body's wildlife;
buck knife buck knife buck knife
rain-fed meat eating plant
inside the head behind the eyes
rooting moments on blood lagoons;
drive towards
neon fantasy washing machine
a game called 'destroy everything you love'
balm of late rolling down
just a speck, landscapes
a few remain

a wet street is not similiar to rain
but it's a sign that it has rained
fever's not flu
but it's a sign
i woke up with my hands soaked in wine
and begging you two things:
1- excess
2- not going home
can we have only first dates where we can always be
anyone else?
can we exchange habits?
close my eyes between your legs
i love burnt bread, black coffee and butter
and swimming through time towards time
like in a midnight carless highway
fever's not flu;
it's desire's errands
it's a trip you tell no one
it's a page or a screen.
it's a sign,
how would you describe it?

is there something stranger than kindness?

i woke up with an idea in my tongue:
let's play a song that remind us of us.
let's call it a quest.

my dear, my darling one.
it started out as an apology
and ended up as a misty and sweet
winter garden.

what do fireflies sing in the dark?
your skin crash landed on my skin,
a bottle of gin and two tons
of self driven fingertips and all-ins.

nothing never really mattered
nothing never feels new
never any different.

i thought i knew better
-i thought i was really sorry-
i thought i knew bitter.

this is my dream, but if you don't like it
i have better ones.
buy me some.
i'm just building a house a brick per day.
somehow.

it's been a long time.
that's why they call it No-Leather-Shoes-Holiday.
take these before we run away.
kind of empty by the way.

we're getting abandoned faster and faster.

shadows cover,
partially, somewhat
but no completely,
every corner of
the street.
every corner of
the soft dying
buildings.
however, it's late.
late in the afternoon.
orange sky filling
feelings.

after all, day's coming to an
end.

deep shadows cover
the parade:
tumult of people observing,
walking,
coming to an
end.
life.
routines dripping down
her thighs.
like a minor chord.
poetry of the suburbs,
universe, verse to verse:
concrete, smoke, some beers,
cigars, history, wine,
news.
life.

shadows cover,
almost totally
but not completely,
the crying eyes
of this wrecked,
self-sustaining,
senseless city.

One drink, you think.
Not bad, you drink.
One more, right up.
Two drinks.
Hurry, you think.
Deep breath, you drink.
Third drink.
And fourth forth drink,
alcohol this night
will **** me, i think.
Not bad, you drink.

Barefoot baring burden, in the street again.
Fifth drink, you flirt, you drink.
The naked bottle, hiding in-a corner,
burning, trying to be.
(desperate).
Willing to see.
Six drinks and
*** things.
One more, before night.
I think:

To death we´ll drink.
In life we'll sink.

The glass broke,
and in a soft warm mist,
i think:
not bad, to drink.