The city body of life,
exalts despite its faults.
Wall
battlefield
****** love
on a street that does not
know of cigarette buts,
a car passes and fireflies sigh
darkness without a shadow
rockets with a thirst for ****** *******,
disappearing as a
reflection of the horse that brings
Furies
lovers
        walls of this street
similar chasms
They bend to the value of poverty,
        walks on this crowded
Avenue of death,
you will see guts shaking
in the mirror of the morning.

One loves only ghost,
So that ****** said
she left their children
to meet with her love
He left early one morning
to cross th'border for a job

In a letter written
With pen and paper
he told her so

with two children.
Hungry without food
The kids with grandparents
      she was on the run
After her ghost

I met her in a brothel
with sadenned voice
As she put on her dress
       It is a ghost
whom you just ******
Nothing ..........
I say or seem
Has reality but
In a dream

My manner of thinking, so you say, cannot be approved.
Do you suppose I care? A poor fool indeed is he who adopts a manner of thinking for others! My manner of thinking stems straight from my considered reflections: it holds with my existence, with the way I am made. It is not in my power to alter it; and were it, I’d not do so. These manners of thinking you find fault with is my sole consolation in life; it alleviates all my sufferings in prison, it composes all my pleasures in the world outside; it is dearer to me than life itself. Not my manner of thinking but the manner of thinking of others has been the source of my unhappiness. The reasoning man who scorns the prejudices of simpletons necessarily becomes the enemy of simpletons; he must expect as much, and laugh at the inevitable. A traveler journeys along a fine road. It has been strewn with traps. He falls into one. Do you say it is the traveler's fault, or that of the scoundrel who lays the trap? If then, as you tell me are willing to restore my liberty if I am willing to pay for it by the sacrifice of my principles or my tastes, we may bid one another an eternal adieu, for rather than part with those, I would sacrifice a thousand lives and a thousand liberties, if I had them. These principals and these tastes, I am their fanatic adherent; and fanaticism in me is the product of persecutions I have endured from my tyrants. The longer they continue their vexations, the deeper they root my principles in my heart, and I openly declare that no one need talk to me of liberty if it is offered to me only in return for their destruction.

I know my steps are no more
the infinite wisdom of the masses has become
the hideout of the scoundrel
equality is the mirage of modern times
it has deprived of dignity
all personality and original thought
even to the humble
simple tasted elevated soul
since modern man entered the idea
modern blasphemy
of equality
nothing but mediocrity
flies atop purchasing corpses
of the living souls
to admire a great man you must first
belong to the unique members of humble
thought
a subtle mechanism of the mind
where awe and emotion still exist
but no
says thee equal man
you cannot enter the room
first you must (horrible word)
decline your taste and bent for
exquisite feelings and a sense of beauty
force has left the room
instead we have complaints
and a total lack of confidence in self
in adventure
and the legitimate claim
to own your life

suicide has become a crime
one of the sikness of deranged mind
it is a right

I do not belong to this world
rather to solitude
an american crime
Oh evil and murderous incantation
in nature we seek solace from the homogeneous man
civilised murdering machine
my artificiality claims the ultimate prize
in decadence and sanctity
no more shall the ruins of judgements past
will assail me
the levelling field and the love of thunder
behaviour of evil deeds shall flourish
and man standing bent on the greyish mud
will perpetually love his trap

move your body
In all directions
Move it in the sewers
Where the flower bends
Near the sea
No history or false instructions
Debug it from anxiety
yours Is the metaphor of the muscle
with infinite hunger and thirst
Swing with me
Feel the substance of death
Without the worry of space
Your body will write the verses
Your eyes, feet, and  arms move
In the joy of pain ...... full exhaustion
your imagination will find
The livelihood of wonder
ease your body  
incantation
             mechanics of the irrational
Body of poetry
   The hand the eye slit waiting
for the lover
     slowly decomposing
In the sanctity of night
Your joyful body
will contemplate
Likewise
The beat and rhythm
of your presence
In the magic and mystery
of this wandering life

Hey men I hate you
Mee too
You woman
I man
You left and hurt
Came
Like a China tale
I man
You woman
Hate your lips and ***
Your skinny little finger
An all my body drenched in sweat
I woman
You man
Hate you all day
Yesterday
Some ants were killed
With my sole
Thinking on the time
You were with another man
And two and three
Or when you passed away
I man
You woman
Bone with bone forevermore

Dilettante my love my wine
How many are you in there
How your young mind
Grows to disgust of finished things
All are one so never to be done
All are you so never to be one
Dilettante of everything
All the dreams of dreams asleep
For never to accomplish
What another man dreams
Dilettante of it all
Pleasurable being
That simply waits for sleep
and it never truly comes
Eyes, on cupboards and melted cheese
As useless as a broken
ball
The cloud is you're thing
The cloud and the grass
The grass
The grass

A good-looking tree informs my visit
a simple minded man rolling my feet
soil dressed by
wet moss
And the horns of the city
In the silent totality  
like the laughter of the street
Boys of infinite wisdom
Eyes turned into nothing
Setting their glaze on the prize
The Mound living soundly as a weeping caress You live in here
You were born into this The lines of hell
The waiting hours
The desperate flies
hanging as to disappear And  yet
How laughable it all is and her pair of legs Coming out of there
Like an insult to
cornered souls
In the neverness of it all
Men delights to see fallen men
Delight on horrors yet
what little do they know
when an empty
Glass picks at their Strings
And run away to see other men fall

I, who did not want to see
nothing but clouds
predicting already
A snow storm
I was full of snow
Without going to school
In Mexico City
Snow?
cries the Director
Get into your class room
And stop seing clouds!
Cirrus were the guilty
For my scolding
The snow never came
The clouds passed ... ... ...
like grammar
about
My head
Clouds that can only be seen
by those who do not study
One day, I remember
I left my chair
Full of ****
the teacher did not let me go to the bathroom

the flies sleep
the POPes fall
stares and incense
water as a Firefly
climbing
dreams
and bites
lying down women
the scared child
*** chairs
honeyed ****
the Coco box
and sustained meals
used oil
molden hands
the erectile *****
with its cursed spring
the blind of the underground
tremble like leaves
mosquitoes
the endless war
for conformity reasons of
intense sentimentality
the juices from my waste
and waste
together as butter eyes
look for the lock
skins and commas
they come up and sit
where are the atoms?
the formulas
that is not a complaint or a
wet towel waiting
the laughter of ***
and happy *******
nails that do not
spend liars aloud
death does not rest
newspapers
newspapers
good to make a fire
is not necessary
to name them
delete all written in the
last three lines
and the simple duplicity of the intelligent
and their hopes of importance
When this ends or Announces
like fans in the Sun
the amendment continues
inexorable asphyxia
burn, rises as one
exquisite betrayal of the senses
the look and the perception
unfold within the bed
filled with needles in terrible ways
as vanity that passes
near avenues and springs
It does not defile
or attack the beasts
resting like a mountain
sacred mirrors
and the ghosts that spit
two stones
just to shake your lungs
and they are regarded as a
wall of the snot
devouring
air and Sun and rain and dreams

Why should I bend?
Night has qualms with destroyed souls
Only the hiss of the former days
Can restore the mattress of time
Should I repeat my self
on end higher than this?
Night becomes great deeds never uncovered
Like a woman's despair
Her self
Vigilant of departed cats
Dreaming silences
The street at her cover
Shines where there are
No more sighs
She mingles in poverty
Tries her luck as a natural state
Soul of dust paved on glory
Night seems nor dark nor dull
She steps into my soul
Dying ember suffocated
On mane.

Find a safe spot to hide and start a dream, being in a dark room is the safest bet, do it even if you have to dream while going to work, otherwise, enter the cinema and choose a boring movie (a comedy will suffice). Don't sit near the alley. Also, flatten the seats; sleep while sitting can be a disaster. If you have the stem of a tomato, smell it to dream in color. Be sure to start with the most irrational mental image possible!
Turn your body to the right so that the left side of the brain drains the blood to the right hemisphere. Before the real dream starts, be sure to say to you, "I want to change my soul".

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

HOT, INCITING ****- MATURE, sensually COSY, COMPLACENT "INDEPENDENT" OPEN HOURS FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE. IF YOU LIKE TO SEE The order of the body increasing but on condition that the amount of clutter around also increases LOVINGLY and UNCENSORED, REAL KISSES Like PASSIONATE ***** COUPLES, with CARESSES ON **** LINGERIE, socks, garter belts, SHOES AND thong. UNPARALLELED NATURAL ORAL Knowing that 99 of the universe is plasma, a state of matter in which the particles do not engage one another UNLESS objects exist as individualS with ALL POSITIONS UNEDITED in HOTELS where Disorder, the greater redistribution and maximum entropy, order and chaos, feedback one another and the unstable tension creates an enormously creative field.

Ruddy's was the place to be on Wednesday nights, cheap drinks, free hotdogs and the graceful presence of Times Square hookers late at night, what a wonderful scene, marines hookers and the best jazz juke box inn manhattan, rowdy and something almost always happened, better than life. I was a young man in a strange country, had my fists tested in FLA and Brooklyn for stupid prejudices on my behalf and others, words hurt only those who do not know their meaning and root. There was a black man sitting next to me, quiet and still, a true barfly, he turned and said;
- you are not from round here-
-  no - I said -I am from Mexico -
- you don't look Mexican, but let's go with it, I don't look African American either-
- r you from the south?-
-Georgia, as they call it -
-well, I've worked in FLA and met some rednecks, Cubans, blacks, but almost no Chinese-
-you mean yellow-
-or *******-
- or ****, you know men, I prefer racism down south, over there the distinction is cut loose clear, we don't like each other, but here, men I tell you, you wannanother beer?-
-sure men-
-Girls just wanna ******* cause I'm black, you know, to be cool and ****-
-yeah, Jewish girls wanna **** white Gentiles, different reasons same goal-
-I hear you, here it's all about being fashionable, but deep in the pit it's all fake as a 10 dollar coin-
  We kept at it until Beth started a fight with another ******, they were calling each other **** I've never heard.

In the street the amorous disasters
On the street my tiny forces
In the street the dead pigeons
In the street muddy gods
In the street the legs look stern
On the street my wishes overthrown
In the street my paradisiacal trees
In the street of sugar ants
In the street  my modern loves
In the street  the night lifted
In the street  the mists dispel
In the street the shadows
In the street I terrified
In the street tiny wonders
On the street my arms for trunks
In the  street deserted photos
On the street mendacious walls
In the street always diffuse
In the street names do not dress
In the street armed outside
In the  street ****** trees
In the street biased eyes
In the street

"We can say that we have crossed the threshold of myth only when we notice a sudden consistency between incompatibles"

Which soul of things
dispute me?
Each slit or crack in the street
has their soul in me
the flower is I,
the mouth that speeks, the feet tied
all escapes are I,
what disputes tonight my soul?
a horn or the adventure
the cat who crosses the bridge
under the silver pond
the meat, the weaving material
in each sniff I think,
with the sweat I love,
your life deserves a dead soul
that I may dwell

Being small
without explanatory words
we were the curtain closed
the **** of my mother
and it would seem that soul
enters a woman
that turns …… when seen
like losing a coin
She inhabits all me
I am she
as decomposing meat
between us

ships, trains and horses
already vanished
how many souls will have ******
her breath
while wandering through my body
in the leaves of the trees
each
trembling with their own way
Of thinking me

1

the free wheel turns
and from the asphalt
the chains dissolve
after every consonant
like a sphere walking on heels
sums the response of your epoch
daaa-brrrum-pa-uf
the sound continues

2

on a sleeping tree
that spits butter
every other morning
MERZ came along
dancing on neglected values
like the horn of whales
bending water at every
corner
in the slums of egotism

3

art has no meaning unless
art has no arms unless
art devours brains unless
art verifies stupidity unless
art has to be edible unless
art sleeps like an idiot unless
art bleeds through my fingers
unless art

4

falling like dominos
will turn the bipolarity of the glass
only to be slashed
so I can see
my pillow that rebells
to the murdering machine
every night
every night with gloves
filled with blue feathers

5

we are born
we are children
we grow
we die
in between, there is a shadow
covering the ghost
slowly piercing your skull
singing on tip toes
in the enchanted forest

6

I call
for the un-trembling hand
amidst the violence
and humanity
against the frozen word
breast of black matter
where spring holds her veil
river stones and milk
ghost of love

7

garbage laying
daughters of despair
renounce the yolk of logic
senses shall play
as it was intended
do not let reason fool you
she’s no more than a
servant

8

who disbelieves
imaginary facts

9

the betrayal of reason

10

Popart popart
garbage of the past

11

a malicious smile
Hans Arp, Raoul Hausmann, Hannah Höch
and Richard Huelsenbeck
out of the ruins of German culture
all conceivable materials
the union of art and non-art

12

continue to study the natural world
childlike and convoluted
the elated and troubled
new forms of typography
a new visual language

13

The **** regime banned
all your creative activities
Primiti Too Taa

14
rakete rinnzekete 
rakete rinnzekete                                                       ­  
rakete rinnzekete 
rakete rinnzekete 
rakete rinnzekete 
rakete rinnzekete 
Beeeee 
bö.

15

Why?

16

the movements of the poem
string, cotton wool or a pram wheel
equal with paint
to reverberate
carved on its journey
repeating them in many different voices
a relentless momentum

17

new people, new shapes, colors, and details

18

blast the institution of slavery
blast the educational system
blast the paper cup morals

19
simultaneous happenings
will reign in the hearts of men
and turn them small and
smaller

20

Imaginary facts and the marvelous
appearances of the right moment
which is a woman
or a dice
with the shape of a cloud
******* on happiness

21

find a place

22

The nose is a myth

23

feign of death
the modern man

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.

Of all the crap
you see hear and taste
a pair of legs walked down
the bus
at the Morelos station
the rest
is *******
coming from people
who have never contemplated
the soul of desire

under the bridge she walks
all the light
became real
for a moment
I felt alive

Lovers
Never are near
Of the other
Dream and communion
peeping
Ghosts walking alone
As stars spying
sealed drawers
We always expect
the barking lovers
cry
The disastrous finitude
while the exploiting worms gnaw inside the seed
of the sun
with empty eyes
water cradle of  rocks
Until the unsuspecting heaven
with its porous moss
charm sirens of fearsome eyes
That kiss without ease
The desperate heart
Hopelessly entwined with all

I do not know what to tell you
but they are the sailing waters
and the spontaneity of your feet
When the Sun and death
haunt my waking
in this table of carbon
lust the finger lifts
and you imagine me
undone by half
but the world turns
and its delights embark on the migration
to my eyes of plant
waiting for the time of morning bath
your feet revolve with the tenderness of the foam
they ride into the roof of my house
and read Peret
love comes
as a bug
While you are distracted with the mouth
and those lips that passionately
crash each other
the violence of the clouds
are my land

pain travels in front of us
I have pursued it in your breath
from the first ray that pounded
the Earth
in the awakening of the stones
and the birds
hunger appeared
in  the beautifully useless walks
through those avenues

While the snow created flakes
to unleash the fury of the fire
at your feet I settle
sweetly
bathed and satisfied

I never asked for this
But when does anybody get what he asks for
or knows what he wants
or what he is chosen for
I only see people
behaving like circus monkeys
not even trained tigers have that look
a tiger is a tiger till death
be careful
It is only your life at stake
too much tolerance breeds blandness
dust under the rug
chatter and gossip
vomited on the radio, the news
injecting fear and chocolate blood
without any risk
spreading only a rotten stench
as if joy meant showing your colgate smile
just like a giant billboard telling you to let go
of the fight
not to resist and become like Mikey Mouse
with four fingers and the grin of death
****** got more style
I’d rather listen to an angry *****
than any anchor woman
or any senator
than any businessman
or lecturer, teacher, parent
I’d rather be depressed
or with a pain in my stomach
like the one I felt when a
frustrated love
told me...
"never change"
when I expected something else

The blue eagle and the demon of the steppes
in the last cab in Berlin
Legitimate defence
of lost souls
the red mill at the beggars' school
awaits the poor student
With the housemaid Know huntsmen how to hunt on pay-day
Know huntsmen how to hunt
as papa speculates
with the smile
By the dagger the dagger the dagger
the tiger of the seas dreams of happiness
Avenged
The vestal ****** of the Ganges cries out Vanity
when the flesh succumbs
Stop look and listen
the famous turkey spends a day of pleasure
turning round in an enchanted circle
with the pluck of a lion
M'sieur the major
My Paris
my uncle from America
my heart and my legs
slaves of beauty
admire the conquests of Nora
while someone asks for a typewriter
for the black pirate
It is not possible
that a woman dressed as the Merry Widow
could become the wind's prey
because the millionairess Madame Sans-Gene
leads a wild existence
in another's skin
Her son was right
Patrol-leader 129 who wears an Italian straw-hat
and is the ace of jockeys
is abandoning a little adventuress
for a woman
It is the April-Moon which chases the buffalo
to Notre-Dame of Paris
Oh what a bore the indomitable man
with clear eyes
wishes to judge him by the law of the desert
but the lovers with children's souls have gone away
Ah what a lovely voyage
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/The-Staircase-With-A-Hundred-Steps#sthash.Ty7mN87W.dpuf

Don't want to live
Don't want to die

I saw what's a writtters block
words accummulated
on a bubble
in complete disorder
big smalll and all kindsofonts
like a back pain
or a sore tooothh
trying to go thrugh a funnell
with no musik to push them through
there are no imaginary worlds
it is all real

While it seems like an easy task, falling in love is something that many adults have great difficulty doing. The fear of gagging causes the heart to tighten up so that love stays in your mouth until you spit it out. Fortunately, there are various ways to approach the problem so that you can relax, overcome the fear of choking, and just let the love easily slide down. It's like riding a bike - once you get the hang of it, it becomes second nature.

1
Relax. Sit down with a glass of wine and relax. Do whatever you can to ease any anxiety, such as finding a quiet place, listening to music that calms you, or dream. This will help soothe your nerves and break the association of love being stressful, so your body will be less likely to gag. Gagging is a natural response to the fear of loving.

See warnings below.

She sits at her desk trying to write a story, her thigh shows like a pearl that came bouncing down the street with a Mellon attached to her ear-ring, but I can only look at her breast, her ****** and a drop of milk, our baby sleeps, she looks radians naked under the San Francisco sun, all I want to do is to have her and be inside her, all, complete as a canvas from Tanguy, but she won't let me, her writing comes first, I call a ******, she is also a woman and will be here in one hour. All because she gets me so hot. **** woman, love is the flesh we can never get.

Think to the bone
The world and me
Salt an myrtle behind
A screen to the gods

I stayed at home, thinking
I needed time to do some thing
Artistic
But since I am not an artist
It started raining,
and I took a cab
To see my girl and
Her two lovely children
My kids
at the library
My daughter was playing with the books
on the floor
My son screaming
Dad
Dad
Dad
With his three year old voice
the very serious people looked at
My son
And wondered where the **** is
His dad
The noise the noise
I am trying to concentrate!
And I appear with my 6 feet four
Carrying my daughter
My flower in bloom
radiant like A firecracker on lonely nights
My son started giving DVD’s to all the people
Around us
He made a mess
My daughter was tossing cookies at the floor
There must have been an interesting
Animal feeding on cookie crumbles

Children really know how to behave
When we left
Boredom fell again over their heads
Consuming knowledge

You are a rocket straight to destruction in the midst of the opportunists you rise and fall to see the newspapers even if you think them the most horrifying aspect of pieces of meat you start to revolt, the **** will end up flying like a circus without turns and faults, magical like the curtains of my bed turning the atmosphere into a dragon mystery lake for children to play the forest and the knick knacks of their desires, but lo! Here comes the banker and the financier all galloping on tamed mechanical horses advancing with Colgate smiles disappearing your face and stealing your persona and your trousers made from cotton, synthetic cotton absurd cotton love cotton fear cotton waiting for you at the train station taken away to Europe where models eat a turnip and a peanut in your face to ***** lace and pepper dine in the shape of a paper centaur coming to avenge with his wooden sword the mess of intelligence and progress, he has waged war many times over, he lost, he disappeared in the shape of a blender for misunderstood poets and hoes of freedom talking about moving to the right direction assuming you will never rise up like a fountain in Rome and jalapa, but here, you and me never talking anymore in front of garbage smelling to the top of the Latin American craps with an antenna submitting your insides to the cops and the lawyers, credit to the banks for terror and the hand that wipes his forehead, you and only me can replace V with a string of fire and music to tremble a few notes into the ears of this country never to again see mommy or daddy, neverness is your dream but as I said you and I are not talking anymore, give me a line, a cane, a flame, a candle for company, cause if you are there and I here then poetry can move as a lightning rod on an airplane crushing giants with the swift ****** of business class, yes you and I will do a match in the toilette, you read and I spit on the floor to make it more comfortable will invite a few *******, two dry and a few (three) filled with milk and cottage cheese for the magazine model to strangle the last temptation on earth. Mooove on
Darling, death comes our way in the middle of the mass as the greasy mullet under the gutters, yes be content with all that money saved up for a better time, to spend on gas bills and rental hair, hands and hearts. It is coming silently.
The new music-

I never asked for this
But when does anybody get what he asks for
Or knows what he wants
Or what he is chosen for
I only see people
Behaving like circus monkeys
Not even trained tigers have that look
A tiger is a tiger till death
Be careful
It is only your life at stake
Too much tolerance creates blandness
Dust under the rug
And the chatter and gossip
Vomited on the radio, the news
Injecting fear and chocolate blood
Without risk
Spreading only a rotten stench
As if joy meant showing your colgate smile
Just like a giant billboard telling you to let go
Of the fight
Not to resist and become like Mikey Mouse
With four fingers and the grin of death
****** got more style
I’d rather listen to an angry *****
than any anchor woman
Than any senator
Than any businessman
Or lecturer, teacher, parent
I’d rather be depressed
Or with a pain in my stomach
like the one I felt when a
Frustrated love
Told me...
Never change
When I expected something else

There was an empty room
Deserted
With a pack of camels laying next
To the dust
Reminded me of me
Of some other me
And the image of a crowded street
Sunny
Moving silently on a yellow light
There was no crying or laughter
Slowly moving
Nowhere in a slight peaceful coming
There was me
In all and of all
to see no more
To feel no more
Laugh no more
In the light of a soft cushion of the street
There were neither angels nor zephyrs
A plain dream presented
The first seen things returned without form, building and falling
A strange nostalgia for the future
And the lack of time remaining
Traveling further into myself
And the chatter of the job
Unstoppable deformation
With its careless activity
Erased death from the face of the earth
No wide eyed glaring at the mythical sky
Where immortality grew like a child
Crawling out of mud
Death imagined
Death and the levitating power of the dream
Around every object seen

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’s
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 tumors
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

oh  so  well  the  frame So delicate my brow
And such delicious branches like an elephant grasping for air
On the sidewalk where
hookers  courage add  with
ferns and accordions
on my hand
like the mist of love or
the fall of a feather
nothing on sight but
hunger
still young
where the tires,
with their beautiful song
Oh my lovely youth
My future
My lasting hate
The deepest agony and then
To become me and
Lovers on forgotten kisses
Where the moon and the cheeseburger
Laugh without time
All for my self
My lovely charming self

my dear little heart walked through the grass and the dessert among tigers of flames and blue mist as if the fire was embracing the moon pulled by the red dispersing clarity of my nose, when the clouds arrived the fire extinguished, the hair became mist and my little heart laughed, it is so small, so very small like a moth trapped inside a seed lamenting with the sun, and walked the river and the mountain soon to disappear, soon to condense the elements and the stones, who were laughing for the last time, and my heart grew even smaller, even fainter, until it stopped laughing and beating, here and there with me as my eyes, clear as the droplets that stained my hat, became silent. fear left with a table full of promises with gifts of fame and gold, my simple soul became dim and dimmer and as dimmer as a floating feather came the weak serpent with a frog inside her belly the frog spat on my face and all the crosses and thorns ripped out of my skin, and all the prayers became fog and smoke, and my tongue received a gift poisoning my belly, and then I saw the three stars from the blind gods; everything became still.

The day will come
when your vibrant life will assume
it’s divine calling
as the cactus surrounded by thorns
waiting for a mysterious animal
or the one to come
your life is your life summon
your soul
there will be precious stones
and the field of pure joy
in contemplation not alone
will your heart beat
to defend
as the grass beneath your feet
from the horrors of man
my child will be protected as the last
fruit to be fed
and rejoiced where death will leave the earth
on the continuos feeling
without knowledge
innocence reborn
out of your joy
never mind all
your flesh and blood will
rise
further on as it is today
clapping to the infinite
stars
cleaving to the dome
in the dessert sky
but the weeping child
begging with his life
is heard no more
seen no more
his little feet
and his little mouth her mother cannot feed
streets where not one can mention them
they are gone
from the image of toy
their’s is the pain hidden
beneath the priest’s cloak
as if warning signs for those
who cannot
will not
comply
to the filthy desires of commerce roads
slavery again subtle new
riding noiseless machines
like a dagger without blade
which hurts no more
into the joyless life there is no laugh

Awake awake let your limbs speak
let your skin rebel
let me ask you
where is your mother?
is it not the angel who looked into your soul
and her life turned into the secrets
of life reflected in your toes
here for joy you are made,
from wood and clay
ancient bursting flames
embers and shapes
visions from the magic land
imagination playing with nature
and artifice and nature combined
where is your strength?
is ti at the office?
in it in your car?
facing the computer or the bill?
or is it in the secret
of the first incomprehensible kiss
I ask thou
and thou shall respond
sleeping in the holy grass
innocent deepest abyss
where luminous beings ignore
what is a fork
but the cloud carries the luminous being’s
light
like a woman asleep
and the hunting wings
the dessert speaks
more eloquent than a tv
wild cry in the tenuous tensions of night
with your lonely fear
as the sun and the mysterious thorns

the void of loneliness
lurks like a ghost at home
in my self
let it come and stay for a while
it will give you strength
to receive joy
strength to live as a man
it is an escape valve for feeling
real feelings to cry and clean
all the emptiness of humanity
modern man does not want to feel
truly stupid
that is sad to know
just sit and let it come
welcome it
there is more truth in sadness than
in all the stuff you find in machines
know it
let it cook in you... slowly
it is love
and the acknowledgment
of your humanity

If I burn my boat, there will be no more
If I sail with my hands
there will be nothing left
If I walk around a brick
my heart will be lost
and if my heart gets
lost
I will find chance
where the sails fail
the hands steal
and I go far
as far as the castle
coming to my dream
holding a piece of silver
and the cloud
to the mountain
the deer will come
then my life will be
gone
and I will sail
with no cloth
just a hand full of hope
and in each finger
there will be a drop of blood
with all the joy
and all the pain
sailing in front of me
holding the scale
with a big mast and a hammock
instantly folding and dreaming
on this land
that it is I