i wrote about civilizations and greed
in order to scent creatures

scent and greed
friends are hidden between the
river's sparkling
hidden on the river like pearls

i don't know if you know
what i'm talking about

but that's fine my man
but that's fine baby

we simply have to ask brother
we simply have to ask sister
if we need answers for our longing

they are sitting by the tracks
close to the trains

they're always there
always: i promise you

don't be scared baby
i promise you:

they are always there
like moon and sun
like a being being overall
in our past present and future

a wonderful power;  in my son's
colorful bible it's called
"I-AM-THERE"

do you understand that?
can you grasp it?

many african-americans say
"you feel me?" in order to
express and share something
(much love to omar devone little)

on my chest there is a tattoo
the one you copied
in an hour made of

shadows
scent and greed
i wanted that

i wanted that you come to me
among the shadows
beneath the greed
above the scent

in a moment of "you feel me"

our skins were sparkling  
our souls were glowing

as we felt each other more
knowingly and more deeply
as ever before

we were two halves
overfilled with the longing of
our childhoods

so i had to come into you
you needed me to be inside of you

and we felt each other
more deeply as ever before.

we arrived:

at an old little house by the sea
green rusty window shutters
it's never cold there like florida

close to the waves you know
this old little house by the sea
it's always warm there

not far there is a train station:
where we find the brothers and sisters sitting by the tracks

we had arrived.

kiko i'm breathing
your lust's air
storms of our lifes
and our pasts

we share childhood memories
we sleep together
we feel each other

we are one body now
a body made of
two halves

we are one person now
no need to hide anything

playful lights
warm winds open windows
the ocean inside our body

we are coming together

last night i realized
i needn't be dead to go to heaven
or be called upon by god

only your soft body

lying quietly next to me

takes me to heaven.

How lovely the clouds look
From the ground below
Painting the world in darkness
Such a beauty to behold.

It is so weird
How this is my life
How I am alive in all this
And get to change my fate

But death will come
And somehow curiosity
Is in my skin
Of what happens
After my heart stops beating

there is no new, only renewal:
the space between brain and mind

the harder shell a skulking humanizing container,
the neuronic heart cells,
brain stem and heart bloodstream
scented/stented,
deny the newness of no new claim

the tower of ourselves built on the babble
of old images and read readings,
songs in seconds recognized by just the first two notes,
the point is this when do you become a grownup,
when new is but renewal, with a hint, a pinch,
of a new insight maybe recognized

now, how will you know me new when your eyes
search the iron bank cellar, where,
by voice deep, by fuzzy photographs, what tissues will connect
when the new sight knows me from too many old poems/songs?

!when the babies gather round for lifting up, sky scratching,
when the old man grand father, carries three upon his back,
a nonpareil horsey ride,
when the doorbell rings
I’m older than now, you’ll say,
read your wild mercury back pages,
taking the grays of our mutually curly
Medusa locks as a renewal gift offering
that will someday
match mine!