You were in the rain
With the drops gilded by the sun
Dripping on your smile with
Their moist wings.
The rain with its transparent
Eyes and crystalline forms
Reach out to me from memory,
Memory which is carried by every storm
Like tears on the window
Ringing you face to my mind.
They play my heart like liquid
Violins, an orchestrated thunder
In my pain.
I remember when you left,
It was raining
Pouring down like broken glass,
I feel your presence in every drop.

In that moment your soul sailed
Off into the profound unknowns,
With heavy eyes watching you go
And God's rain falling on those
You left behind;

There in the flint of the final star,
Becoming yourself once again
Into the ocean of stellar waves,
Your shoulders that burned before
Have found their wings once again.

You shall birth a Nova's light across
A stream of unknown universe,
Filling the empty space that was
And is now no more an oblivion;
You become a solar being.

You have vaulted the quiet reaches,
The timid space between stars you
Have birth a system that will grow
From your presence, and when the seed
Has grown to have it's own shores,

The first delicate breeze of your airs,
The birth a your new amorous Earth,
You will become a song without words,
An orchestrated living constellation.

And the long embrace we feel from
Your absence, the abyss left from
Your departing, it will be filled
And as we look to sky for Hope's
Sake, we will see a new place
In the night sky.

Your star will say, " I am here",
You're light will press against the
Eyes of those you left behind
And the arms of your light shall
Embrace everything we miss.

You will find yourself in new waters,
Know yourself in the sun,
As your soul catches the solar winds,
Make sure the star you birth
Winks for the eyes of those
Whom shed your tears.

All that is not light
Sketches shadows:
The secrets within them,
Pleasurable vices.

Into the darkness
With its stealthy silence:
Woman of the black veils,
The thief in the night,
The murmur of the stray.

All that is light
Flees from the shadows:
The list in the *****,
The fire in the passion,
The fragrance of foreign flesh.

The nocturnal man
Seeks the midnight touch:
All that is desire
Anointed on my body,
The taste of her skin.

And the dreams
Of men happen in bliss:
The scar of the lover,
The crevices of her body,
The feverish pace of lust.

Everything that is dark
Flows in the shadows:
My light is the night,
The stars a guide,
The death of my desires,
The kiss of the veil upon my lips.

The streets come alive when so many
Sleep softly into their dreams.
      The newer L.E.D. street lights pierce
The secrets on the Old 90.
    The women that the sun does not touch
Is aglow in the moonlit pavements,
Because she is a nocturnal,
     To be seen by those who cannot see
The bright sun, she shares herself
With the secrets, only known to those
That never stay.
    
       And to better fit into the list,
To better know the secret is to become
Something other than what is expected,
      A desertion of your standardised
Places, where scars can be hidden,
Everyone can dress as royalty,
     This is more common and natural,
Becoming the creature we all seem to
Leave behind.
     And here there are lovers,
Beckoningly fighting one another
For a chance at one night,
An embrace in the eternal momentary.

    And the thirst is deep,
The desire is a window to the stellar
Places, a deep freedom in the nocturnal,
        An occasion set for nightly meetings
Of souls with shadows that seem to chase,
       Street people on the Western venture,
An exchange of souls at home in the night.

Poetry, my companion poetry,
Always with me in the grind,
The one I speak to in the solitary
Confinement.
         You were born out of life
That was silent until I met you,
From the fountain of words
That I am drunken from.

       Your grace in the theoretical
Chaos is what keeps me focused
As I trace the oblivion into form,
Together birthing inklings of
The journey.
     And you are the voice of wombs,
The beginning of my dreams,
The ending of my awakening,
      At times we collided and formed
The polyhedron shaped mirrors
Always conflicting the original reflection.

     But you are my friend,
All that is real in this surrealist
Pavement, I am not myself without
Your balance,
     Both crazy and sane,
Still I have not known the difference,
And I have no cover without you,
I become a picture of a child,
     Lost in the city,
Lost among the sea of eyes,
All staring at the orphan.

In the end
I was, but I will cease to be,
A thought on the project called life.
And the thirst for answers
We don't know to ask,
Abandoned by time.

I am not what I was when I was born,
I have become someone else
In the elastic anxiety,
Which was really nothing to worry about.

What is beautiful
That is infinite,
Fleetingly we were all magnificent
In the oblivion,
        Death is a contrast,
Unlike life where nothing is guaranteed,
A revelation to our defined being.

    In the end
We we figure out the answer
To the questions that should
Not be asked,
Posthumous wisdom.

And who the hell cares?
I will not close my eyes
Or shut my ears to the world.
Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock-
     I am a born again sinner
Clamoring with a restless species:
Yeah that means you all,
Flourishing in misery
Over the shrinking planet-
     Babies making babies
And I see them all becoming depressing
      Fires, like little stars flashing
For a tiny moment the exploding
     Searching for the abyss called desire,
I cannot say my name,
      Who the hell cares
When the world is a buried sphinx
Under a questioning of programs,
    Asking:
" What's this life for!" in blue tears.
        The blood flows under
Closed wounds,
   Yesterday and today when the revolution
Was never fought and the thought
Comes crashing down against
     The youth in the dawns troubling light,
    Children, it never stops!
The dream dies at the impenetrable sky,
   Children with half smiles
And a sigh of anguished breaths,
     Collection of living dust and bones,
Into the bitter night the dove
Itself cannot rest,
    I cannot say my name,
At the right hand of oppression
    Flourishes an anger building
Like a mutilated rose roaming
    For a sense of destiny.

I fall, you fall,
      We are convicted,
Living in a shadow of nothingness,
    The forgotten scent of the dream,
These strange sounds that flutter,
     My God give me a destiny,
But I cannot say my name,
    I remain a face in an ocean
Of solitary faces,
      We look out on the road,
There is death passing through,
     A tiny rumble in the heart
Then cries:
      FREEDOM!

The dove has flown away into whiteness,
The doe filled with an unborn verse.
Live, little poem- yet to be written-
And the words gnaw away like a dark wolf.

The eye of the world is on you,
The ink is drowning on my page.
The pearl of thought escaping
My oblivion born into a dark innocence.

Little poem yet to born
Up from the nightingale's journey
Into a subtle abundance,
Like an invasion of white lilies.

From my graveyard of angelic thoughts,
Flowing like a blind star,
The creature that is born
Like the Apple untouched in Eden.

Mother, soil of my soul,
Did the oceans stretch out
Until the rock was hidden?
    
      Did the sky spin its depths
      From the pale moon that suffers
      Your beauty?

Did the lakes come from
Your crying?
Did its crystal dawns enchant
The angels to fall from Heaven's grace?

       Did the rock lift itself so high
       That they adorned themselves white
       Veils atop to kiss the sky?

Did the forest become born from
Immaculate conception like
A ****** bride?

      Did the winds of eight directions
      Grow the storms that grace
      Your melodic gardens?

Mother Earth,
I walk the valleys of your curvature,
The miracle of your perfection
Where the river begins,
I find my answers surrounding me.

If our love was not
The sleepless lover
Alone in torment,
Alone and questioning;

If the armour were not natural
As it is spiritually connected,
An abyss filling and emptying
At the whim of the lover's presence;

If our love were not
The perfect dream in a life of sorrow,
The missed lover pounding
At the door they closed behind them;

If our love were not some
Anonymous destiny,
Like a godless world guided
By chance lost without
The other but forced to
Live;

If it were not hunger,
The missing touch,
A pillow held tightly, alone;

If our love was the sky
Raining embers of burning joy,
Both a volcanic passion
And an erupting void;

If my touch was not
On your skin,
Then these hands would
Never have touched glory;

If our love
Did not evoke Eros,
If we did not become miracle
And the tragedy;

If my eyes had never lay
Upon you,
Then they would have never ooened;

If your body did not
Humm the electric for me
And only me,
If the hundreds of kisses
I can still feel pressed upon
My like moist and pure
With its eternal surrender;

If our bodies as separately
As together joined in this world,
Naked and glowing,
Two becoming one,
Our last breath the first into
One another,
Then our love is real
And a dream,
Eternal and momentary.