You stuck a needle
of cheap material
You were probably alone
As things that grow in the rain
And I wonder
what you've felt
If to your rescue one of these poets came
those sentimentalists you knew by heart
those delicate revolutionaries

But your hoarse voice will allways
sound
around the trees of my head

Absent you are
When everything was nice
No one ever knew
What you must have felt
Alone

This world was not for you
It is not for anyone else

She walks by my white floor
As if they knew nothing of the war or football
Or my wife's complaints
That sleeps
With a headache
And a trip to the Oxxo at two
In the morning
to get her aspirin
I went for a car ride
for some air
       Soccer is everywhere
everywhere
And I think of smashing a bottle of coca-cola
To the windshield of any
Pick-up
But already at home,,,, not possible
the leaves look at me
without saying a thing

Joel is a doorkeeper
for a rusty warehouse
and has a wife
a very angry spouse
and a son
one day his hip was out
two bodies going
on different directions
his blue uniform T shirt
floating in the powdered air  
barely walking up and down

he fell
while cleaning the murky water
that flooded the region
of cement factories and grey hills
two weeks without his employers
to even pay for the pain killers
or severance pay and no off time
his face had the expression of a struggling
red snapper

together
we would watch a gossip show
on the TV
while he ate spiced dry beef
boiled eggs and rice
the stories on the TV were mostly about
spouses, children, abandonment and
violence and
girls sleeping with their step dad
a psychologist and the skinny loud mouthed
blond moderator
who acted as the defender of society
completed the act

Joel could not stand up to open the door
a doorkeeper who couldn’t open the door
finally, after two weeks of silent pain
they gave him an assistant
we packed the last China bound container
bellied up with modems
to be refurbished and resold
to a billion internet hungry
Chinese beings

My job was done
two weeks past and I came back
he was not there anymore
but I found him
200 yards away under his shack
a crammed cardboard cluster of homes
he was in bed
lost 40 pounds and was
piped up, draining blood
from the chest
and a bag of ***** attached to the waist
someone was laying next to him
sleeping the afternoon
he smiled at me
missing two front teeth
skinny as a mummy
had three tumours
one trapped between the kidney
and the spine
one more in the stomach and the last one
next to the liver
he was to be taken to the hospital
with a danger of loosing
the kidney and his life
I gave him a kiss on the forehead
and left

It was the same pink sunny day
the same old trick of a life
but something was not right
it never usually is

One should always be drunk.  That’s all that matters; that's our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time’s horrible burden that breaks your shoulders and bows you down, you must be drunk without ceasing.
    But what with? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you choose. But get drunk.
    And if, at some time, on the steps of a palace, in the green grass of a ditch, in the bleak solitude of your room you are waking up when drunkenness has already abated, ask the wind, the wave, a star, the clock, all that which flees, all that which groans, all that which rolls, all that which sings, all that which speaks, ask them what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will reply; “Its time to get drunk! So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk; get drunk and never pause for rest! With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you choose!”

We owe a great deal to the French
The Langue d'Oc pretty much cradle
Of romantic tongue

French critical mind gave us
Some pretty good words
Baudelaire's translations of Poe

Charles Cross inventions
Rimbaud,,,,,,, where is he?
There are so many

To mention a few
But if you ever read
Benjamin Peret
Your view about poetry will change
Forevermore.

Love is Evil
A scarfe can be usefull
Eyelashes begin at the mouth
A ******* is the breath of God
A bed is the only counselor
An advise is a curse
Legs first
A suicide lifts all hope

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