What is in a dream, that I should dream awake, breathlessly and sorrowfully? I who has yet to live.
Days push me around and each second weighs in on me- judging the flicker in my eye- I am not a woman of substance.
I have fallen in love with many a dead men… Oh how they light up the beat room of my existence !
They do not cringe at my awkward aura, twist my thoughts into ugly monsters, or laugh when the earth buries me.
When poverty rides my back, they borrow light from the sun and salt from the sea so that I may stand straight.
They make me believe that even if nothingness ruptures inside, the universe may still breath through me …

the light came
he left the house
creaks and leaks following him
scared to her eye balls,
his wife pinned a halo on his hair
hoping to turn him into a better man
the run down city leapt through him
he flew away over the old railroad tracks
thinking, “am I right, am I alright?”

bindweeds caught me hypnotized
lost in mild self hate
warm beer warping my taste buds
leaving an aftertaste vision
the adult child daddling her fear
unable to dodge the bullet,
or give her mother her youth back

Of course hope covers us
of course mercenary love lacerates us
of course music rocks our drownings
of course madness grasps us in the middle of these struck down people
of course sobriety reflect a certain elegance
of course silence unseams souls guilty of having
created nothing, not even a plastic toy to last an eternity
However when you have no one not much is real, not the
city lights, dirty water or paycheck in your pocket
When you have no one,wings spread in loneliness at the top of a bridge

Nature is no mother of mine,
she twists me every chance she gets.

Even if
beauty cannot heal the hand that bleeds
in self-helplessness
a compass cannot delineate the reach of
self-conflict
I cannot wear the skin I am in
with a red lipstick smile
Do not leave me behind

Even if
high heel shoes make the world taller
hateful eyes spin their dark
love loses elasticity and heart
Do not make me so old

Day by day, I’ll grow new leaves
I’ll change into a
a sturdy existence for someone else to lean on
As I sit on my bed, I am barely dreaming
my blood mounts, but my face has changed
I was unhappy as a child
I was unhappy as a teenager
as an adult, all I have left is potential
for unhappiness, I have grown up
joy hits me with the 3rd bottle of wine

The sun rose again
I called on the Bodhisattva to carry my weight
the fanfare sickened my heart
with its volatile emotions
and I forgot my name.

Bathroom’s scribbles
Jena has got siphillis
Alice h.e.a.r.t.s Jack
L is a fat lying b#&*
politik suks.
Incontinent unhygienic bastards
with their pink blue black ink
let their minds defecate over bathroom walls and doors
The stench of the 21rst century emotional discharge
permeated my skin
and I lost my mind

Puppies scrambling for existence
their blood growing thinner and toxic
screaming at each other
fucking looser
retard
fag

The sun hid again
the Matryoshka doll sounded out my soul,
and called me shallow
real flowers lie low, she said,
true worms rage down below the trash can
and I broke the mold.

He should have joined in
with their circumstantial hellos
and uncircumcised halos
a circle of unwholesome crops
even hungry crows dare not
scavenge through their ripen tortuous minds

My highschool geography teacher,
with the emotional temperature of the antarctic,
the bareness of a desert,
an unrotating mind of exactly 2 seasons
(the first season raining abuse:physical and mental violence
the next season, creepy niceness punctuated with creepy smiles)
and a sens of self-worth bigger than all planets combined,
was a true psychopath,

the sort of psychopaths who roam the halls of catholic schools
intent on scarving students into mini jesuses,
on infusing into their minds the turn-the-other-cheek teaching
except that everyday is the Passion
they cannot sustain it
they are weak in faith and rooted in sin
they were not born out of virginal conception
Still they long for different verses,
compassion and salvation.

He should have sought the pig that would carry his demon
he should have kept still, for the trumpet has yet to sound.

love drew my wings into life
so that I may fly higher in the cage
yet,sadness moves heavy and fast
encroaching on my movements

let tears fall the sorrow out
let the day come out, and
bit the fog of its tail
so that I may brush up against the sun
and scatter through infinity

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Leave me the hell alone
quit perousing through my brain cells
I maxed out on all my dissatisfactions
All I require is a diet pill for the out-of-control* self-awareness
( out-of-control <= self-awareness;
vicious circle c Restrictions;
Thus, I am a rambling fool)
Keep your damn free* worlds,
I will settle for a fatter ideal.

While I am walking, tripping on the street
look my way (I am addicted to your promises)
strike me with your lightning bolt
so grace may echo on this unhooking heart.
Budha and the sacred tree,
(were they ever alive …unharmed, unhaunted?)
I come unbound
Even when returns sorrow scratch the moon and the stars of heaven,
I am in love with life.

I never needed to win
being on top of things was too uncomfortable
yet there was the possibility of life
at the back of my mind.

The person I wanted to be
standing across the street, waiting for the green light
was so real.
While engrossed in nervous greed to make his smile mine,
worry sucked the glow out of my soul
I lost sight of all things true

Something is happening without me,
with the friends left behind
the dreams I dreamt
the children starving in far away lands

The sunlight has me recoiling inside myself
looking for the perfect escape
but it is nothing important or new,
only little sharp pains
to enjoy rainy days,
coins lying down on the pavement,
and fruits a bit too ripe.

If someone asked what life is about,
I would say things small
[cheese or roses like
aromatically nice or genuinely sharp]
most of the time
a huge blur
a poignant question
a horizon or a ceiling with your soul stuck
Just let the cork go free
pour the wine down the throat
laugh, gurgle and spit
your desires away

Rain falls a miracle
the learned ones green or old wheeze sneeze a drop against my psyche,
the old friend, throbbing incoherent nibbling on the Rorschach test
and I see
lightnings and thunders livening the night
bats and butterflies colorful and dark
music dancing through her
myself eaten up by a spinach quiche.

In my new old apartment, German roaches roam unconquered
some days, I wake up with a few rounded up beneath my belly,
little freeloading bastards,
how about a bottle of red? maybe some pinto beans instead
to cover up the uneasiness born out of our relationship –
my kicking maternal instinct.
But motherhood is a many-splendored thing, for
tomorrow, the little darlings will die.
The Landlady promised.

Tonight, the little one is by the window,
still and fragile
the rain tap dance against the glass
I can taste the metal
How we all fit, big small discontinued
scattered and invisible.
one phone call, the universe’s landlady
nice and demure will send out her control team
and off the pest go. Welcome the spinach!

I am back, such as the unfaithful wife returns after deserting her home,
humble and small
I have gone to sea and come back with my head on my hand
Almost slain, almost loved
I can only confess half of my sins and wish I had sinned more
Both world and home move on and over my dislodged limbs,
expanding in words and invisible shapes.
I confess I resent you half as much as I love you
Having loved only two people in my life, all of you included,
I have certainly returned just as sane.

Let’s look together for the crest of our youth
Helsinki’s crinel, neither green nor gray
dancing into the winter’s wind.
Our parched skins seeking barmaids and wine carafes
cheap and full.
Nailed to the bar, we consummed our moons
whirling in the night.
Shattered and lost among the familiar alleys
we jumped on the wet pavements
dredging for gold.

You walk past the solid lines, saying
‘Come what may.’
So, when the universe cuts us into puzzle pieces
Don’t go around asking for the bigger picture.

When darkness unfolds and tidies up the sky
only few dead stars will be left shining
So, don’t go around asking yourself,
’wasn’t I born exactly like the best of them ?’

There maybe something greater at work
Something bigger than our bond
Something loveless and eternal feeding on our
Disillusionment.

Careful as you go
Life runs unequal and dissonant across this street
the sky falls quietly on a skid row
taking ill-luck in its stride.
					

There is a beautiful land

small and poor

being alive there was such a miracle

staying alive pure magic.

Sorrow and hope were for free

A little blue bird grew up, flew away

Only in dreams does it wander back

to the broken hills.

Clouds of familiar faces comes a rollin’

soundlessly, endlessly in a black and white scenes

Don’t let them shake the bird of that tree

Even if the glory of dawn comes and goes

the fruit, unripe and sour, longs for more light