Love-acetone
the night sky wears
the layers of skin you sold for
a loaf of sympathy bread.
Hallelujah!
Grace is not welcome here
So long
So long friend
The river will not swallow your bitter tears
The ground will not touch your sullied bones
Farewell friend
Thank you for the smiles
Thank you for being the one
I shall spent my death with.
Go in peace
You’ll always be my bleeding star.
First times
razor blades
soft skin
loose red thread
overwhelming flow
white bathroom tiles
quiet fall
daisies bruising
at the edge of night
a neon sign
‘Merci d’avoir vécu’
Walking through each other’s dreams,
The tattered streets will let you know I was there
first
No matter how hard he tries
He cannot see himself as real as you do you
You and your pure mornings
The heavens will not call out for you
Do you think crows dream about the color of their feathers ?
The immigrant’s dream sits on your front porch
hopeful
Your smile brings tidings of a victory
for a moment he feels like he can bask in the glow of
your sweet delusions
Like a sudden powerful jolt
he feels his youth
millions of little fireworks shooting through his veins
all his tomorrows pigmented with soft pastels
He would like to stay there with you
but, it is only a beautiful lie
Let me tell you
I always keep one foot on the outside
I hate crowds, teams, groups and constellations
What the hell is the cosmos?
More than 2 people together, it’s a conspiracy,
it’s a fracken world order.
Where is my earthly exit?
I know where the bees go
when the honey gets too much
( after all, the queen will always have her nectar)
They are exactly like him, in all the wrong way,
moving in a pack, following lead.
Sometimes, he shakes his head maybe hoping
to fill the gap between my teeth, and I wonder what if
I had been a one-of-the-guys sort of gal.
Would I be … ?
Hell, two people can become a crowd or a dead end
Yet I somehow bet it all on the three-legged horse relationship
I striked big: the fusion of two souls never to be apart,etc…
an instant, a page drawn out of the book of some dead poet
Now having been a butterfly,
I have to turn back into a catterpillar.
and this time, unlike the bees, I will not stray from my flight path
Exactly like him, I will entice/buy/steal a soul for less, strip it into little parts
and sell them for more;
My love will be entirely capitalistic
I will join the crowd so I can better feed on them
I will wriggle my green caterpillar bottom at the top of the food chain,
and you, my love, I will show you spite and rage
I’ll show you how it feels to walk alone in the dark
At the end of the tunnel, the winter’s wind threatens
But he has done everything as planned
excellent grades/wife/house/kids
he has done everything on time
and in order.
The sky can sink and disappear
Him, he has done everything as planned
If the sun shines today,
it’s out of rivalry with the one
who learned how to become his own best ally.
But at the horizon,
the winter’s wind hurls in its furrows
a golden scythe which moves to cut
the tall rigid grasses at the end of their season.
His uprooted and fragmented existence quietly goes
into hiding between the empty rows of a library,
the blank space between words in the book of the living
forever dwelling there till it doesn’t matter anymore.
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.
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.
2 pigs, 4 cows and 12 chickens sacrificed for me to send this message, “I’ve been captured by savages(stop) I do not have access to a computer(stop) Do not send Chuck Norris to the rescue (stop) hope to be back soon(stop)”
In the middle of the night
the stranger came again
“Let’s go sailing,” he said;
the moon and the stars, carved out of the sky,
wept in the palm of his hand
the humming bird trapped inside my ribcage coughed fire,
but I could not swim in the dark.
My eyes flashed its last picture
Yesterday’s party
full of chatter, color, chimera, and … me
filling my skin with speed and artificial light
orbiting, hanging on someone else’ s shoulder, arm, waist, eyes, lips as
though afraid to break some heavenly thread;
I fancied myself free.
You have pined up all your hopes on me
you have nailed me to the cross
Do you actually think that I will resurrect for you?
On my way out, you cheerfully threw at me your
“Work Hard” pet phrase.
Hell, I have aged at the touch of you
my joints hurts in the open air
my back responds to well to the gravity’s pull
only this snow so white on the ground
keeps me from hurrying to the devil’s mouth
If living is living in the moment
Lord, it is so hard to make a second count,
it is hard to breathe in and [not] let go
There is this pain I can’t suppress or talk about
(you’ve got to mourn quietly after a while),
I’ve let it linger too long.
Maybe it would be better to go the bottom,
slide and disappear.
Gently, without noise
like the dreams that should have remained silent and
hidden in the teeth of the night.
I am nothing but hollow
a hole so yellow
my words are like fetid air
all I’ve got is inconsistent despair
I wish to renew my dreams
chase away the stale realms
I, too, was a hoping girl once
but both luck and ball bounce
I’m left with nothing to say
with my years I pay
in tear and sighs, for so long, my cowardness lay
Did I ever think myself worthy?
Did I ever think that I was owed something?
Now I crawl under the shadow of the damned tree
trying to hide while my shame runs free.
All I want to do is
pull out my hair
howl all the way to nowhere
touch the sand again
brush the sky with my lucky comb
climb trees in a strange land
dance with my hands in the air
All I want to do is
loosen my soul
wander in unlit alleys
listen to the night heartbeat
sleep in a lilac field
hold hands with a bum
find oblivion in a voice
All I want to do is
uncover my eyes
stroll in a desolated park
run through rain
fill my lungs with more air
bathe in silence
get drunk from cupid’s wine
All I want to do is
take off my body
feel the wind beneath my feet
whistle in a dark night
hug the silvery moon
jump into the abyss covered in grass
free fall with muted screams
Part I: My father shot me, bang bang
I was created a girl, you see, and
wantin’ to be genderless was my sin,
“My daughter, I’m send you back to your maker.
Only he can make you whole for you’re unnatural.”
Steadfast was his resolve as he pointed the gun at me,
I didn’t wish to be a boy, you see,
but he shot me before I could tell him;
I wanted to be genderless.
I was the garbage can
rolling empty on the side of the street
one shot through my wasted heart,
nothin’ but pungent darkness.
Tell my father, he fostered and killed an empty vessel.
Tell him,
Tell him,
Tell him, I had yet to be born.
My father is not an evil man, you see
he is a simple man with ordinary values
uprooting all he doesn’t understand.
I wanted grace
a heart, not bruised or calloused
a mind, pristine and free
and eyes, innocent and clear.
So that I could feel like it wasn’t too late,
So that the day I’d finally be born and alive, I could say :
I am not my mother
I am not my father
I am not a girl
I am not a boy
I am human
***
Part II: The Reaper
Dark
Dark
Father, it is so dark.
Ah, 17 years old…
life had the promise of a bebop dance at the neon lights.
I thought there would be more days
Days when I’d breathe stardust till the break of dawn,
Days when freedom would cost 10 cents a piece at the farmer’s market
Days when I would needn’t stop for the rain or wait for love.
Fly me away
Fly me away from my own mind
Father, it is so silent.
my beautiful mom took the night train,
she promised to come back,
when the night is beautiful again
when the passing wind needn’t flirt with the outside, with damaged stars,
and plastic bags that always float one step further.
The reaper came from the bullet
and into darkness it took me,
to the place of the unwanted children-
dark and desolated.
The fabric of life and death is too coarse against my soul,
it rubs the good stuff away,
and soon I will fade into darkness.
Wish me back
Have Mercy, Father
wish me back
alive and well
So I can finally rest in peace.
another
dawn came knocking out my window
lawn of my dreams vanished, and
the bed threw me down,
time to find somewhere to go
no one is to blame, it’s all my fault
if i seem lame, i’m in a vault
i could have made an effort
i could’ve found me a cohort
for a life less lonely
time to find somewhere to go
another
callow walk in the streets
i felt so low, so mellow
the asphalt threw me down,
where can I go from here?
i need somewhere to go.
and hide before another dawn
would you welcome me,
for a while?.
I saw the doctor today
he looked into my eyes and
smiled. How could he?
He took a look at my finger,
my mutating thumb stared back at him
How dare he?
The old vivacious man thrilled to meet me
like I made sense, wind in the right direction
It is what no one ever sees
a girl in a chair facing the absence of truth
cold sympathetic eyes
mouth uttering empty words
“You’re a good girl”
Was I mistaken for a dog?
Those words were meant for pets,
the domesticated fools.
Maybe I’m the nature’s pet
fed with low-weight hope,
whole healthy lies and
juicy bones.
How long before I’m put to sleep?
How long must I wait for my free run in the park?
Until then
I piss on nature’s greens
creature born out of spite
contemptuous flesh of mud
How long before the garish sun
turns you to dust?
How long before the teary sky
washes you out?
contemplate him not,
Heed not his shrill cries,
abomination is upon him.
creature born out of grace
luminescent piece of heaven
The jealous moon turns pale at
the sight of you.
The wind weeps in awe at the
touch of you.
Revere him,
seek his warm soothing embrace,
God is on his side.
creature born out of a random drop
innocuous crack on the surface
Puppet in the circus of life
Pauper on the floor of the world
Trample him not,
feed not his ravenous sorrow,
time will spit him out.
There exist
stares, glances
which break silences
or spoil mornings
when she seeks a soft word, a loving word
at the foot of the bed
where only used slippers should lie adrift,
out of choice.
She said she dreamt a hope and hoped a dream
where I could be her protector.
I grimaced a smile while shamefully wishing
her to fade somewhere beneath the pillow or the carpet.
I can’t even snore in peace anymore!
She is always on the lookout
for a slip up, but
I was a faux pas from the first day we met
She mistook my drunken cheerfulness for a pleasant personality
She even thought me a sweet thing or maybe a sure thing
These days, she just pokes, pinches me at the crack of dawn
hoping to catch and squeeze my vulnerable self before the sourness kicks in.
In my long short life I’ve never been big on refunds or exchanges
once something is in my hands,
no matter how chipped, dysfunctional or useless,
I still keep it.
But that painful light
so heavy under her eyes
she calls it love; and I want it away.
I want to bring her back to that street, to that time
where her smile was full and her eyes less needy and sad
I could bathe in chocolate and strawberry creme
but I would never be the satiating treat she craves;
all I can do is give her up.
They have made a statue of us for all the pain and misery that can never be washed away.
We were the ones who never got what they deserved.
We were meant to survive when others live. Do they live,though?
Or is it one more puerile misconception?
Harassing thoughts of us trampled on and made to scrounge for food.
We were fools the day we let ourselves get born.
So many dawns and evenings passing us by, with us stuck and sticky with anguish and fear that we may die unfulfilled, unmade. So much space, and air wasted on us. We were innocent, incapacitated with our defective will to life. We were shells; beautiful and redundant in this painful harrowing world beauty. Where was the awe, the worship owed to all the pretty things created just for us? The sun smiled and our limbs shivered and shrieked out of weariness from the sun that only does as expected warming skins and things. A terrible understanding of our undignified, unsettling collection of hours, while our bodies gradually turn to dust.
We were companions of misfortune in our young tender years; disasters at every corner.Yet, we would imagine and dream a god dying for our sins and no one else’ s.
But between oceans, and lands; vast, painfully vast, we became strangers…
I thought I would remove the “self” from my convoluted mind
the self which only exists, contorted, exalted in your eyes
to please you or revolt you; the other
There won’t be no prickling shame if it weren’t for you-the other
the other’ s self I can’t escape or hide from
I would erase you if it weren’t a crime-sin and more shame from the other
the other’ s self which resists, galvanized and contrived by my brain
taught to hallucinate you and accept you; the other
It’s as if we are back to back and each facing a mirror where we’d sometimes
catch each other’ reflections; A vision where we can never meet- the other
I ought to shed my “self” and your “self” from my awareness’s shelf
maybe it’s all a mirage where nothing subsists beyond our selves.
[If] death’s-agreeable and unpredictable,
why walk away?
After all there won’t be no needling pain if it weren’t for you- the other
the true other – I can’t ever hold or get close to.
the sieve and the sand 
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