When huge amounts of mass
are so tightly compressed
becomes so dense
that it starts to burst.

Heat reaches values such
that the flames possess
the ability to generate
new elements from scratch.

Years of light traveled
to all corners of the universe
will delight our sight
in a simple shiny dot.

A child reaches up
pointing to the black veil
where a new spot
brightens the night.

"Look a star."
Then runs to measure
its height and angle
the color and texture.

She blinks back
nice to meet you too.

A muffled sound,
alarmed my ears
sharpening the senses.

My feet found the ground
before I could ask,
hands risen avoid shadows.

I tiptoed my way
through the dark corridor
anxious to find the door.

It was closed,
but I could hear feet
bouncing on the bars.

First placed my hand
on the cold ****
trying my best to relax.

Though the pounding
of a heart echoed
through my brain.

I opened it wide
as silently as
I could tremble.

A dim light escaped
filling the small room
with a eerie gloom.

Her head shot up
her eyes widened
with unspoken relief.

Her hands held
towards me in
completely vulnerable.

She could see me,
knew help had come
to set her free.

Soon released a giggle,
no words yet
just infantile drivel.

The beautiful sound
of a magical morning
in all daily glory.

Imagine, as they nowadays do,
that matter is actually
not in one place precisely,
that when the quantity
is really really small
and speed is rather high,
(so no cat, nor box, nor standing still)
matter becomes light
and light matter alike,
E=mc^2 and all that.

At this quantum scale
if you measure a particle's place
you know exactly where it stood
but not when it did so.
During that moment
it is not spread over all
in a probability wave
or a distribution of matter.

Yet funny things happen!
Like, passing instead
one single particle
through two holes,
this unequivocally shows
it not in any one place
but spread in a wave
from it you get time,
(take my word for it)
but not space.

So is the puzzle,
of quantum!

She raised her glass
to a space of fragrance
gifts of perfumers and chefs
bees for our banquet.

"Tonight we dance."

Her glass rose
and so did theirs.

"Outside this stained window
lose specs forced to shake
water flushed from the sky
as if migration made it light.

Zeus and Thor collude
against our dinner feast
abhorred by its stature
green isn't color that fits.

Nevertheless,
tonight we dance."

And her glass rose again
with them cheering it.

"Youth flee their lessons
burdened with pesky
and serious concerns
long past their tender.

For what of their guardian,
exhausted will she manage?
the pilling of warnings?
of crossroad endings?

Regardless,
tonight We dance."

And her glass rose again,
they're lost at her turn.

"Broken close their eyes
to their fate and its price
they planned for luck solely
but got struck instead.

Their doctors prescribed
but held was their fund
for useless is the mallet
to the insurance wallet.

Anyway,
tonight WE dance."

And her glass rose again
but gone was their wit.

"Looking-in hands implore,
forsaken howl at our spoils
like wolfs without a den
or a pack to take them in.

They'll surrender to the rain
and recoil to any found dent
of this majestic construction
to remind'em where they stand.

All the more reason,
TONIGHT WE DANCE!
Because we can!"
And she gulps the wine.

Slowly the stunned room,
in its palpable gloom,
was silently emptied.
The extravagants gone.

"Good, only I remain,
let it linger just the same
in their spoiled brains.
For we alone hold the chains."

Oh, treacherous pull of endless floor
under our light inconsequential trample,
in equal measure, the feather is won
cursed by thee, to its inevitable fall.

Thy naked invisible attraction
sways the seas in moonlight dates,
holds north and south feet kissin',
and has us visiting the sun from west!

Force that collects from all distance
a grip the scale takes the measure,
I miss ye largely drifting in space.

Ye are a tango between bodies,
from a bang that predates time,
sculpting atomic dust into planets.

Salted water released
like an elastic band
loose my ribs cage
finally allowin' air in.

Roll down cheeks
turn at the jaw
trace down the neck
caress my armor.

When all else is pain
this human reflex
revives the senses
makes me feel again.

Let slide, wash away
like soul rain
brighten the grey
bring back sun-rays.

Oh, please let it begin.
What I wouldn't give,
in this moment I'm in,
for my dry eyes to spill.

Winter falls upon you
Like the icy morning dew
That freezes in your surface
A shield of unimportance.

Your back hurts from the frost
Bitten you ignore the sense at last
Shed from strain of polite games
Under that cover that is your age.

But the white fluf speckles that walse
On their labirintic ways to the grounds
Will turn grey as your hair and melt
Before you feel their Christmas sound.

You are free but so alone
In this unforgiving tone.

Knock... knock...

And I open the door.

What are all these masks for?

The night is fought
by candles and lanterns
carved from vegetables
in my front porch.
Loafs of pumpkin and spice
must reach the roads end,
the perfect bait!

A spider on a web over a face,
pale olive completion with hollow screws,
a surgeon holding a plastic saw and a brace
where dripping blood was reproduced.
All huge eyes and brightened teeth,
hands extended in gluttonous cheers
begging for candy and all sorts of treats.

A cold gulf of air freed through the frame
on queue I unfold my dark heavy cape
unleashing a flash bellow a bony square chin
curated with rice powder and gin.

With blood thirst in my ruby stare
petting my hissing black cat
with the lowest voice I can set
I tower over them and declare:

"Your costumes were bought!
You cannot contain your glee!
Take some paste for your tooth
that is all that it is worth here."

Before they could **** in their pants
I turn the door shut and echoed two laughs.
Well done Simba! Let's turn off the fans
check their picture and wait for their parents.

The shell hangs on a golden string
asymmetric lines curved together
in the valley that roots my neck
a picture inside I keep on holding.

Cheap cloths on a public beach,
the young us playing catch,
a moment in colors of chess,
caught by a since lost lens.

It holds all those stormy nights
I came to sleep by your side,
all the "how was your day"s
of the greening of the leafs.

The cold of the suns that set
shed of that and other salt
and dried, pressured into pulp
holds the bones in a pole.

Me, a flag to the wind of time
tight to it gaze the reviewer,
it is that shell of once upon
my compass to where I've been.

But the tide keeps at my ankles
resigned to rob under my feet
the desert that there stood
steady as the clock's beat.

The day will come it will win
when of this shell I lose grip
and holding on to a gem
won't brace me for the slip.

Because it is your history
the concrete ground
the future is built upon.

A carcass of your touch,
with mint pop gum
A shadow adrift of a cloth
used on the floor hanging to dry.

You came back! Knee on
the stone step of this front porch
as last night on my pillow, vowing...
to stay for good, to make it better.

But... You left!
My thoughts drifted to when you did,
that salted dam released my burden,
I felt the air enclosed in no more.

At last,
my tongue gained ghostly words, its last:
"I am sorry, but I can't... let you in.
I'd love to trust your word, but... I... don't.?!"

So my hand closed
the heavy door of wood
and after facing it motionless
I too... left.

Our bodies were carved
from the same ginger clay,
my dents match your protrusions
my lips yours, your fingers mine.

On a starless night
coupling to our desire
the watching moon
cursed our frail figures.

My eyes witnessed
you tossed, curled up
the ripping of your back's marble
and the snow feathers that erupted

Your olive orbs focused
on my glittering legs,
see I was revolving too
in the transforming pains.

See, we were build to fit
even more to complete,
I was sculpted to fall in
the deepest of your chest.

But life grew me gills
and you hollow bones
so I am letting you fly,
refined argil of mine.

We glimpse during twilight
that we used to hold tight.
Oh, just as I was set to fall in.

Two glaucous lights
pierced the dense mist.
A breath of wind,
muffed a voice sing,
pushed violently
the naked branches of bistres
that caged out the moon
and alabaster rags
revealed in a pair.

The air shifted,
cutting icy at my face,
so did all branches,
the rags at me pointed
and I could distinguish:
"Hold him!"

My feet disobeyed
the ticker pumping
in angst to move away.
Down at my ankles
I saw dirt hands graspin'.
I looked up again
to stun at the approach
of this gleam of a ghost
towering over me
like a hologram
of a past unsealed.
"Hold him!"

Her voice brought tears
to my trembling knees.
Sweetened by a longing
that regret imprisons.
"Hold him!"

I heard of the tale
of a mist in February,
he had gotten out for wood
after a love ruffle
over the frost of the moon
and never was heard off
until this day.

She had lost her might
searching the next nights
until her body gave
still dressed in the gown
she back wore then.

Seems she searches today!

Her lanterns recognized
my understanding gaze.
With a sigh of relief
she crossed through me
leaving a taste
of daturas and moss.

In shivers I woke
and felt your warmth,
so I grabbed it tight,
cautious not
your dream to rob,
laced myself at its side
"I held you!"
while you are mine
to find.

Her blue jeans flow into leader sneakers,
a **** fair face with wild hair ponytailed.
Her thin figure blends effortlessly thus
into the testosterone full fragrance.

Fortunate coincidence of features
with those promoted in trend magazines
freed her to intellectual ventures
and to snub the complying mannequins.

The random chromosomes combination
granted further stubborn intelligence
to pursue the defying vocation
most contrary to female convention.

Many stars aligned to tunnel her through
a ceiling she's better poised to fracture.

WE GET IT!
I get it...
You insufferable prik!
You HATE all of it!

You hate your job...
(and somehow...
that is my fault.)
You hate me...
You hate my family...

But it is Christmas.
Let us inferior
Optimistic fools
Have some joy for the day
And for God's sake
Get your glee ******* frenzy
Out of this place
And take your bitter taste with it.

I shall open my door
to you
Any other day.

There is a point unavoidably found
when although the view grows ever fonder
the dirt under your soles turns to stone
and the road promises splits no longer.

You're compelled to turn over heels to peek:
There is no way back yet extends on end;
You recognize each tree from root to peak
for the solace of shade they'd extend.

You can still count the rocks of tougher climb,
shiny ponds you filled with sweat, blood or salt,
or breezes that eased the steamiest time,
through those bulky barks that you groomed from sprout.

Either fills of treasure your breathing chest
or quicksands you into a hollowed step.

Here is what I cannot fathom:
If god is all and evermore
why would he follow
any treasured church?

Why would you
love a god to fear?
trust a god indifferent?
or be guided in his whispers?

If he is and has been
source and architect
why assume he means
a plan that is for us?

I conclude he either:
is bright and refuses the altar;
smites so deserves no power;
or is not but our will to follow.

In any case, I am free
to be the best version of me
for the sole purpose
of earning my sleep.

The balance is one to nurture.
The inside compass tips the scale
towards our insignificant survival
but it is faced eyes locked,
with jets of heat exhaled,
and pointy horns ahead
digging our hooves on the sand.

As if we could overpower nature.

In its indifference it laughs.
Earth shaped by volcanoes,
and the drifting land and seas,
carved by the feet of dinosaurs,
embraced by the roots of trees,
are but a dot on the cosmos.
The secrets of their years in rings
are but a tick of the clock.

As if nature need us.

It will draw a new path
grow new pets and sleep
an infant's game.

We on the other hand,
need the measure of the grain,
can't breath with less oxygen,
would burn with one degree more
and freeze with a single less.
We are the center of this mess
but we also own its consequence.

"Stars cannot shine without darkness"
is romance of fiction,
and not the reason they parade
thousands light-years away.
We are the ones that cannot
gaze into their bright eyes
during our specific day
or point at when they shy behind
the shade of our burning sun.
Wonder, would they mind
if we were to be blind?
or would we alone complain
our starless turn of days?

We for ourselves must maintain
our advantage in the game,
listen to the rumors inside the brain
built in chips of evolutionary gain,
so we don't become the fossils
getting brushed off layers of soils
by historian pawns of a new board
making assumptions over today.

Hidden inside a cocoon,
color wouldn't breach in
all I saw were the shades
the world made on the walls.

Curious you shook the whole,
as a child would Christmas morn,
a muffled dead echo was all,
but got you to kiss my skin.

Your pointy curved thorn
rubbed my projection screen
and freed me from the gloom
tore the fabric off scene.

My wings liberated to spread
made your eyes bloom.
I cannot understand why
but I filled your blue sky.

All the while your kiss,
it still brings me to tears
as it is ever more dense
with the wet grass scent...
the fountain water splash,
the sparrow flappin' sound,
the moist of the breeze
from this roses ground.

You bloom in me ever more
more than I thought would fit,
and which is strangest of all
started with a kiss from a rose.