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Savio Apr 2013
I am Marmeladov
Perched as if I were a Father Clock
A Wasp
A Fly
An ant crawling towards the jar of sugar
Stuck in a tear-drop of Honey
Perched at your window
Dream Catcher from vacation to Mexico
To City Country of bandits
Of hot sun
of desert skin
of guns ****** **** **** *******
Spanish women playing Spanish guitars
only 3 strings
only 5 fingers
only 1 eye
Gazing at Death
Her Depth of field altered by her one orange eye like lit cigarettes in a jail sell after lights out
quiet quartet
spanish folklore
a eulogy written in Violin strings
a graveyard of deceased mad men
we never fond Mozart's body
vanished in the sky like the pupils of a white crow
Anatomy of a violin:
Casted in glass
Molded by the moss stauteing over the side of your house
Sand and mud
Winter and old leather boots worn by a Vagabond searching the trees for proof
Sorrow Sorrow Sorrow
untouched lips of a woman
Wet cigarettes and wine and crooked eyes and a starving belly a Thirsty Mind
A lost canine:سلوقی, Saluki, Persian Greyhound, Royal Dog of Egypt
Sitting in a plastic wool cabin
the Mad artist
drinking molding *****
A lost Breed
The Wise
The Proud drunkards writing hysterically on tenement rooftops of NYC
Rimbaud the Tenth of November 1891
The wonderers with peyote with whiskey with 'Kamel Reds' with Hope and Curiosity
Undress your symbolism
Your Strawberry Eyes that Grow on my walls and feet like Callus'
And like the Charcoal sketches performed By Death
We Age
just as the sky does
just as the Tree you climbed as it rained and you swallowed Lightning and Thunder
Yet the sky was dry of no rain
It is a drought
We pluck the roses eye lashes and
We climb into Brick studios and watch the Ballet dancer
as she shapes her bones into Sad New Orleans Trees
The door is locked
Not by bolt but
By the uncut fingernails and hair of wild vines
So we crawl through the side shingles
San Antonio lizards

Ballet ashes
dancing to the sigh of Beethoven's last sight
before a wisdom of blindness
swept over his brown eyes
She seems to be painted all black
Like the flight of a Crow
Or the color of Plums
I sing with the owls
I lay with the long road of infinity and its sadness
Out of oil
Out of Gasoline
Out of Food
so we lay around
Carving the paint off walls
like Van Gogh

I am hunched over a grave
The pond is frozen over
'Monumento a la Madre'
Vagabond home
The rain casts a shadow
I cannot see past your face

Someone is listening
I seep into the peripheral of night
Write symphonies on stone
Lay with the weeds
digest the light of the moon

And as I follow the Southern Star home
I am
Stopped by
Painted red ***** houses
24/7 Whiskey Churches
So I Lay down the rifle
Savio Apr 2013
A mother whispers into the fire of Night
I hold a match
I hold Yarn
I Am Wool
Shrinking to the formation
The intricate designs of your rib cage
of your brother's belly
of your Grandfather's waist
Am I simply a fool?
And Who
Doth I ask This question too?
A Torn book
A tattered sonnet of Man's sore feet
blistered eyes that are Green
That are Brown
That are Blue
I Lay with myself Tonight
I am Awake
I am Loud
In your Night
I Am the Janitor beneath the hardwood floors
of your Dream
I am the
Poorly Waged Electrician
With Shoes that resemble an old dog
I Light Your Highway
Your Street
Your Morning coffee
Am I The Child?
I fall in love with women I see on the streets
Their Wavy hair
like a French sea
Her pale complexion
the Brown Glimmer in her eyes
And I paint on her on Tombstones
On Coffee Mugs and on carpets rolled up for the Dumpster
At Nights
I prefer to dream awake
and sit with a BathTub of words
of stories that melt like cheese
that stiffen like Ginsberg ****
that Shriek and Strum like Tom Waits stomach when he starves on backroad streets
And when I cannot
I make love to a woman
And a poem is made
and I kiss her
and my lips say 5 am
and I wish her not to go
But the Dog
is waken by Robins
by the Pigeons
by the digestion of night to day
by the Greek Gods and Goddess' Light
That Falls down
like long hair of woman you have so longed for
and you kiss her chest
And there is no Death
There is no Sleep
or ****** addicts or gasoline or paved roads or shaved faces or mothers or Dostoevsky or Beethoven
There is just her
and you run your fingers across her skin
through her hair
She is the bottom of the Ocean
You are a homeless crab
a Shellless Clam
falling down
to the bed of the great ocean
and there she lays
With a reflection of Youth and Beauty
And her complex simplicity makes me think of
me as a boy
running behind brick collapsed business buildings
Kissing a girl behind church
Buying Icecream with Josh in Winter

That's what a woman does
She erases Death
from the palms of your hands
and your thoughts
and you sink
to the bottom
and you watch the Coral
The other fish
swimming along
and you laugh
Because you do not know Death
And Death does not know you.
Savio Apr 2013
Drinking oil
from mothers breast ******
Death- open 24/7
It's 3am
I can't get out of bed
and the women outside are tapping on my windowsill
Tapping on the back of my spine
“doctor doctor”
rummaging for tongue hieroglyphics
give me pills
I'm standing
saluting the dead like an Air Force Team
forever in the sea by the sea for the sea
Time is a busted lip
on a Youth
Caught ******* in the Garden of Youth
Adam Adam Romeo Juliet
Writing symphonies on toilet seats
***** Lipstick hued blue
she must match her thong and bra
and hair and soul and painted toe nails and the mood of the night
Is always Blue
Like a blind man
washed away at sea
only to believe he was a boy again
in the Womb
And there is a taste of Salt
a taste of blood in the water
Coffee grains
shark Teeth
February love stories tied together to makeshift plastic hollywood driftwood explorer boats
I am Nobody
I have nothing
I have Poems
I have Books
And I lay in the desert
catching flies with my metallic tongue and Iron casted lips
as my Libido curves like a Rose in Winter
I am ******* the Devil
I  kissed Father Time's Wife
And sometimes at night
I sneak away
Climbing out of my Children Book Fairy Tale locked Bedroom Door locked by a fools gold bolt
And I walk to the Fountain of Youth, the Garden of Eden.
Untieing my shoes
like a woman does
with her hair
Savio Apr 2013
Stumbling through the streets of Mexico
At the ripe age of 20
Dancing nudely in front of his jewel eyes
It is 3am
and the latino barking k-9's are loud
loud and beautiful
like thinking you were dead
but you are woken by a train
and you touch the bridge of your nose
you touch the cheekbones
beneath your face
and you sigh in relief
that you are not dead:
The leaves are green
The grass too
Poison Ivy and Dandelions

Stumbling through Mexico
Wearing an old ***** flannel
a few buttons missing
Examining the streets
for cigarette butts
To unravel
To squeeze the brown tobacco
into his palm
for later
when he has the chance
the consciousness to buy rolling papers

bottle of cheap whiskey in his back pocket
holding an imaginary rifle
firing at the pigeons
at Cadillacs
that care freed on by

He had been at a bar
He was born in a Hospital
He liked to drink on top of buildings
He has a father who is dead

Stopping at a church that smelled of coffee
Music played
It was soft
Like a woman kissing you good-bye
Yet you try to recall the feeling of her lips
and cannot
He leaned his dark curly hair against the bricks that vibrated smoothly
from the violins
from the piano that over took the room
That washed away the hardwood floor
That tapped Death on the shoulder
That stopped the rain
That made you stand still
to make sure
you are not dead
And the Violin wakes you up
and it is Fall
Now Winter
Now you are with your mother
Now you are
and you look around and notice that
The music has stopped playing
and the Trees
look a little wet
look a little
than they used to be

Woke up to his whiskey bottle shattering underneath him
Saw the Sun
Saw that the Church was empty
Saw that the door was open
Saw that
He was hungry

Inside there was nothing
Not even a Cross
Not even an Alter
Nor a candle
did flicker

There was nothing on the walls
The stained glass windows were covered by sheets of metal
The hardwood floor
sank a little
He walked to the back room
An empty room
Not even a window

So he slept
and did not dream
His father taught him that Sleep Dreams were useless
when Savio woke
it was cold
Everything seemed very still
The walls holding their breaths
The Ceiling calm
The hardwood floor quiet not creaking

He opened the front doors
to see that it was Night
and that there were no Headlights
no Taillights
So he stumbled to the liquor store
Holding a Blue Notebook
That he used to
Write down the dreams he wanted to have
The Dreams
he was not allowed to have

At the liquor store
he bought wine
walked back to the abandoned church
and read to himself a dream he never had
but would like to have:
“I am home, a child, sitting or standing at a stream, it is warm, I am alone, but I am at home, Yet, I know that I will not be at this stream for ever.”

He closed his blue notebook
looking up he saw that the church was lit up
and music was
falling out of it
seeping through the wood like sap
The smell of coffee
the smell of cooking meat

Yet when he opens the door
it is empty
it is gray
it is tinted sad
And his father is there
peeling off the sheets of metal covering the stained glass

And Savio wakes up
Turns to his Blue Notebook.
Savio Apr 2013
when it rains
everything seems still
her body has the curves
of the grooves on wood
following the path of a moth
a woman
and three children
in a van
drop off phone books
and newspapers
onto front steps
at 4am
and it rains
nothing plays on their radio
she kisses them to sleep
“don't worry”
and they're asleep
but the bills aren't paid
and the hot water
is turned off
the electricity
a boy without a home
grew up on the highway
the passing vehicles
the passing buildings
street lamps
rivers and lakes
streets and turn signals
were his
his television
When it rains
Everything stops moving
and breathes
I am still a boy
at twenty
When I can't sleep
I walk to the highway
and sit
the humming road
the humming 18-wheelers and automobiles
remind me of resting on my mothers heart
I drive to the city
To look at the buildings that are never asleep
To sit in wooden cafés and drink cheap black coffee
I am not a poet
Just a boy
Still on a highway
gazing at the world
these are my finger drawn pictures
on a foggy van window.
Savio Apr 2013
She works at the Flower Shop
selling Roses to the young boys
selling Lilies to widow'd women
white ones
red ones
purple ones
orange ones
She works at the Flower Shop
Clipping the stems of the Lilac
Sweeping the Flower Shops hard wood floor
Insects with wings get inside of the Flower Shop
Insects with wings hide in the openings of the flowers
She listens too the small radio
Attached to the wall
That is painted white
This color
This hue
This brand of Light
Does not compliment her complexion
The Flower Shop's painted white walls are too compliment the complexion of the flowers
Their colors
Their height
Their thickness
Their meaningfulness
The Radio attached to the wall plays Beethoven
The Flower Shop is full of
and White Painted Walls
and a Girl
Who waters the flowers
Who goes outside to smoke her 100's
Who sees the Flowers die
Rust brown and gray
bending towards the ground
The Flower Shop Girl
Shooting up ******
While Laying on the
Flower Shop's hardwood floor
freshly swept
next to the Amaranthine flower
filled with insects

Sonata No.14
Movement No.3
Savio Apr 2013
Catherine's Tango
Quiet moonless night lit only by the libido of a white cigarette
Do not
Do not be a poet
propose to a woman
and die with children on your
Denim Soul'd Lap
I am giving up
I am
disfiguring my Rifle
I am
unwashed clothes
tucked into the corner of the bed
where You and She and He and You
make love
listen to the radio
when it
gives premarital birth
to Jazz C-section
when the radio
sticks its finger down its
electrical throat
attached to the wall
Digests Classical Master Pieces of Symphonies

I am 1:42am
an orange pill
2 pennies
3 quarters
a dime
a nickel
molding yogurt
a face sprouting weeds
a body
blooming old age

Tip Toe
unlock my
golden halted door to a chamber of
Lamps that bend and sigh
only to leave you
quite sad
quite misplaced in the sand
asking for water
but all we have
is cold coffee
it has been sitting out for
2 waltz
all of the ceiling's light bulbs
are awake
chattering quietly
like 5am suburbia birds
The one eyed red robin coasting south for a warm nest
watch out
Lovers are here to stay
they carry
knives and ****** bouquets
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