Yo other

This ache
Mittens of ****
To blow

Poetry was never intended to express your banal and stupid feeeeeelings, do not reduce it to lowest level of hatred, poetry is not your vehicle to be clever or breif. I Have no interest to read about your pathetic love life. I'd rather read about the life of a fly than your meager attempts at being recognized, have the courage to be Anonymous.... you can't can you? Too many poets, too little poetry.

Cheating so loved the truth that once began a flood of letters that fell into the river ***

When the flowers are close to the bearded truck, get a gun and shoot in the eye of your desire

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

invent your feeelings
There is
no beauty unless need
rules your soul
she does not care about your sincerity
identity bored as a  ****** on a rainy night
your will is nothing but fancy fooled
lie to yourself
as much as you can feel
what is not there
to set the forrest
in flames
you are nothing
but a perpetual repetition of fate

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

of all the sand and the rage
there is only one cause
to be either an elephant or a dog
the silence creeps on bad writers
I alone stiffen the rod to heaven
not a believer but in a certain gods
who played the fields and ****** hard
humans and animals alike
a sort of cruel joy
we moderns **** but its all we've got
bark and **** and eat dream
you can only be sad
strength to raise up every day
to see ugly faces with ugly jobs
and ******* preoccupations
where is the passion crime?
Ah my left arm for a solid love
bed and drink and be left alone

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.

Shadow kisses

Take Flight wings

In endless pursuit

Wind foam creating

Gods bound in time,

biting lips

Surrounding the cracks where

breath becomes liquid

between the legs

nose hand and voice


Electric and primitive

strong desired leaf

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

The washer of my soul can no longer subside with the idea of having a sleep that dreams of all the members from the machinery of the sandalistic escape from acccaaaaccaaave said the man with the embarrassing look a look created by the style of hiding their embarrassment, but the ridicule lady knew better, embarrassment is for assess who swallow assess before diner and behave like so but when it comes to the destiny of a badly eaten pear not a single soul trembles at the thought of remembering their childhood, because my friends, the pear never decided to be there in the first place.

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-

and drops come as if the twilight of a love
from observing a roach
this particular night spent
as a locust or a miriad of intermitent desires
my blue is as usual present
no pleasure felt no more
in the border on infinite space i dwell
to not being a drop for all eternal sound
myriad window and a sigh we echo
only the prize to follow in the lonelly road
finding nothing but "i'ss" I I I followed by I

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

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

The mention of a purple eye
Residing in your ****** which awaits
Like a small window resting on my neck
Desires nothing more than all the screams
Of a deserted city after a bomb party
You silenced the almighty reason
With a proper wink and the blessing
Of an accidental discovery
And yet the horns will remain
Guarding the temple of your
Niple

Lend me your arm
To replace my leg
The rats ate it for me
At Verdun
At Verdun
I ate a lot of rats
But they didn't give me back my leg
And that's why I was given the Croix de Guerre
And a wooden leg
And a wooden leg

All death means nothing or at least
Not much
My death, yes mine alone
The bones and flesh
Eaten and polished
Worms flirting with lost knowledge
My bones and an apple tree
Death saw me last night
It will be swift, she said.

I'll miss Street signs

There was a sitting cow on a prairie and a small **** came flying who resembled a martini glass that resembled a train, but if you sneeze the whole thing might fall and become an egg sandwich.

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

She was not a thousand years ago
Damascus was the first city
Her poets nomads and between worlds
It is rubble now
It is deserted now
The gate between hell's civilized
Deseases
Syria is rubble ashes and dust

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

It’s simplicity
Its cradle and skill
Evil in bed
Disturbs your conscience

Born worthless
No miracle there
In delightful fast
Storm holds its vine
Selling naught
Desiring naught

Its words
     Sounds
Its actions
        Gestures
The beast fears naught
Unknowingly knowing
Swollen senses
Glorious aliment
For a crooked tree

Its breast bends
Its hands bends
Insults are loves
Wars and artifacts
Antechamber of death
And says naught

Not one will remain
      Responds
Not one will prevail
      Responds
Your dust will be eaten
By democratic worms
Of all brothers
Despised by all

Beasts fears naught
Nor life nor death
Who says?
Who comes?
Who goes?
The breeze only alone

Eternal
White on white
Atop the dead walks
A single hair of grass
Grows, lives dies
Beasts do not share terror
             Abounds in its symmetry

Without choices
Alone as the lone sun
That from three stars
                 It hangs
Empty and nothing more
All perishes
Something In the middle there
Alone Only

Embracing the extremes
The beast has been a beast
Over million a trials
And even then, nothing in the middle there
But the seen
Growing to naught
Perishing in naught

Beasts
Aware of this not
As ornament the imprint
Of its fiery tenure

I had a blister
As fading from life
Not a single drop fell
From our cheeks

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

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 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

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

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

In the same loveless floor
An astute mare
              Begins to chew on nightly
                  Pains
Mine as well the bone
               Of past joy
      Oh! the lovely mare
   I once saw
                 When love was all and none
            In you're liquid lust flesh
                hair of death
lonely pale
                     Night of veil alike
     Distant tree my soul
             Shall never see thee
                    Again
Ever ever more
                             thy sleep
             Shall end like a bent
               Elongated Neck

Solitude is a boat
In murky waters
The only place where the souls of the world still sing

Solitude is the song of the brave
Who ignore themselves
obedient to
The Infinity  within
Solitude chooses you
While taking a dump
Or dreaming with obsessed
Souls

It drinks alone with unspeakable boredom
Do not avoid it
It will shower you with
Gifts of endurance
Amongst the most incredible
Odds
Like a saint wiping his nose
With inimitable style

Those beautiful abysses where conscience
Awakes to the smell of incense
muscles seeking other beings
To obscure alleys

your hair and the ribbon
Atop those ******* resting on a humming bird
The sweet taste of hachis brings forth
Remembrances of life before God

Lovely the silent ****** of night
desire ablaze with fiery eyes
To You and the skin you wear
Like the unknown land of nevermore

Once in the Forrest a large animal crossed the lake where a person with large ******* and echo in her hair was bathing placidly naked, the beast turned into a mushroom to be next to the buttocks if the white female, she smiled at the tingling of her throat an drank a small portion of red wine, immediately the lake withdrew and a large bull emerged from the mouth of hell. Her ******* squirted honey and the mushroom beast jumped between her legs while the bull gazed at the marvelous woman that became radiant with green light coming from her waist tightened by a two faced snake. A man came along riding a bicycle when out of an apparent nothingness a sword decapitated his head that bounced all the way to the feet of the newly formed girl. He asked her to help him clean his eyes, she did so with two words, and emotion entered into the bull from the nose and made him explode like a bull frog, then the man took what was left of the bull and became a beautiful flute. She stood up and kissed the head of the mushroom and grew as big as an elephant even before the first elephant was borne. All this happened while the nymph of the lake pronounced the following " I will deposit in the hearts of men, the imperative need to follow ceaselessly his own voice" then disappeared inside the only rock in the valley.

Do not let the migrating soul
Capture the night
You are about to fall
Agree with all
Bemused and in awe
Harness all hate in a pocket
Through and through
In the sadness of my sleep

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".

The Tomb did not wake
Upon the arrival of the muse,
Her ******* sounded
ample and modulated
But the tomb kept silent- strange
thought the muse
This is where My husband
Was buried

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.

Come to the door asphalt
New ***** and a wet ******
Salute each member cadette
Silently open the sea
Moreover shut the curtain
Asleep is fine
Clouds like dotted lines
Peoples faces ugly as fornicating
Roaches eat wood and sky
Breathe ether and hachis
Pompous beings indignant
With ****** the world forgets
As a woman with ******* thoughts
Speak dwarf innocuous as a hammock
Let love **** you
Asphalt

Love needs to be re-invented to slay the material from which a new form will  spring.

Barbed wire and lights
Bycicles with no lights
Atop abandoned plains where
Dried hair plough
A dark skin with fences on the brow
Like a messed up soul
As beautiful as as a pond
There are smiles
From the foul stench
Breast and a slave
To temper and soul

There was a time of brute force
Where a poet was the beast
And a woman the evil cry
All made song all pagan glow
Bul Lo the mistress of hate
On a carriage she came
Preaching respect over a river
trully made of blood
With floating dismembered flesh
Carrying a song
Now it is all a desease
What humans feel
Remember what cruelty is
Kind complex mind

when I think I loose
something goes to places of comfort
a sort of lattice with no edge
thinking is for ******* or simply graduates
my sole solace is to sleep
no waking for a single heap
women are somnambulist
with *** appeal
the brute will inherit the earth just wait and see
or don't
do as you please if you can

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

I guess old age is not
Collecting SS in the street
Beggars go with pesos alone
And I drift in my car
Into a parking lot
With a sealed stamp 4 pesos to
Let me out
Wrinkled faces with a plastic cup
Its a hellish life we lead
Expanding our qualms
Move slow slow slow
Old age will come

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

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

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!”

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