Month: November 2008

The Bus

poetry

Don’t look my way

It’s too early in the day,

Your soul is not tucked in yet.

Romeo coughs at the back of the bus

Here comes tuberculosis.

An old Juliet shouts repeatedly to herself

“Shut up! Yes God I know. I know. Shut up!”

Dorian, the unaltered beauty, sneers

Give the lepers their bells back

So they can sing their melody again:

“Unclean, unclean, unclean…”

Jane scratches her invisibility cloak

blood under her fingernail is the same

ghastly red as the “Stop requested” sign.

The metallic box spits two people out

While Tarzan bites his nails thinking

“I hate my mother. Does it me make evil?”

Inside the bus, one happy thought lingers,

“At least I’m not suicidal…”

And outside, it’s better to hate God than your mother

Otherwise, you better have tales that would make God vomit

and reconsider his creation.

tiny violins for my fake friends

poetry

real friends don’t play pretend
and make ammends if they offend
surely with no intent
to damage you but by accident
and real friends are by your side
would never lie
or leave you dry
or let you die
but real friends do not exists
like unicorns and sentiments
like aliens in rocket ships
but much much more like sentiments

Hide your daughters, Bluebeard is back in town looking for a new wife

poetry

I’m back,

I’m back

from that place

disgustingly green

where hope drizzles reluctantly from the sky

“Will I see the tall city towers once more?

To all that is and ever existing,

Let me gently lay my head on the winter’s bosom

Let me breathe in the urban fumes,

I swear I’ll not dance la bostella again,”

those were my thoughts and wishes while still captive

in the most horrid and colorful place on earth, where beauty

and ugliness mesh too well that only a faint pain remained

after finding a saint half-smiling in hell.

translation anybody?

poetry

Nolite esse, Anime virorum malorum
et feminarum malarum.

Milites DEI volabit
et proelia vulnerabunt malos
telis potentibus.

Mare ignis hostes DEI convocabit
et mors pro miseros erit…

Spirit of Evil Men and of
Evil Women, do not be!

The soldiers of God will fly,
and battles will wound evil
with powerful weapons!

The Sea of Fire will summon the enemies of God
and death will be before the wretched…

because someday the end does come

poetry

high on achievement
and digging a hole
knowing the bottom cannot
be as warm and soothing
as your arms but somehow
hoping to dig through
to a nice patch of sod
on which i’ll lay and wait
for the sun to shine perfectly
down straight from above
to warm me as i develop
hives from the otherwise
pristine landscape
in the six square foot
wide hole i’ve dug in the
time we’ve spent together
while i was trying to make
a name for myself
or some moron named roger

bass, tone, tone, bass, slap

poetry

bass, tone, tone, bass, slap
bass, tone, tone, bass, slap

i’ve got the answer
it’s in these red palms
finding the rhythm
on this taut goat skin

bass, tone, tone, bass, slap
bass, tone, tone, bass, slap

i’ve got the answer
it’s in the night air
keeping the downbeat
in this room upstairs

bass, tone, tone, bass, slap
bass, tone, tone, bass, slap

i’ve got the answer
it can’t be spoken
but if you listen
i think you’ll get it

tone, tone, tone slap, slap bass, bass

What is true

poetry

raw power of lust
crushes your delicate dreams
+
a shadow of need to flood
into death’s arms is not void
for you are a hindrance
+
the bare breast of the ill goddess
aches when sweet cyanide milk is produced
truly smooth as love, a lie
+
for love is a waxing moon
essential to cool your water
beneath my storm of quenching fire
but life is with ups and downs
every season has its tide
+
our blazing sun soars above the sloth sky
as a rose dies wishing for life after the painful summer
+
knife bitter urges by pounds of boiling blood
blood sprayed from a man, woman, boy, girl