Today,
beauty cut through me
awe came a bleedin
stardust slipped from my eyes
dark-hued clouds dissipated
At last!

Hope, grace, peace
move closer
warm my skin

Life spent in the LostAndFound
left a pain-print on my soul.
Drunk from the unhappiness,
I threw the innocence away.

Oh joy come nearer
I’ll hold and cherish thee!

I
Where do the hours of the day go?
Quickly they run
the body go through the motion
[but] it’s all wrong
gray hairs and pimples
artless eyes and wrinkles.

II
Patched-up youth
screaming “bloody awful!”
forlorn, wistful and bounded
ready to abide to the universal bold laws
like poached eggs in the the morning breakfast.

Ecstatic painful joy-madness of a mother
at the sight of the long lost child, [and]
the subsequent needling sadness due to the lack of eternity;
loss recedes only for a while.

III
We were hopeful once
Our lungs expanded and contracted with mirth

We were happy once,
Our erected limbs stretched and scratched the sky

We were, once
effervescent souls
Sown with a string of luminescent words

Nature’s arrow pierced our hearts
So deep it broke us in halves, and
the void reaped our efflorescent breaths

IV
One second before January, one success on our belt;
“We have stayed alive”
…and here comes the cheer,
here comes the new year.

[Whatever for?]

For the plum wine
for the lake that didn’t drawn us, [and]
for you and I

Father, ship me back to the heaven’s factory
I am not well made,
my alter ego is a creep in the dark
my shell need a bit of fixing
my soul leaks and a drought is a comin’

father Jean speaks of a great plan for every life
but how can i trust the words of a man who
softly cries alone in a confessional?
I see, feel no plan
My drunk father drove his way to the heavens, and
took with him a young teen who was standing on the crosswalk
“There is no heaven for alcoholics and
there is no haven for your mother”, my aunt tells me.
My mother used barbiturates to smuggle my six year old self to heaven
my heart stopped for a while but in the end
she went without me.

Father, I’m not looking for a quick refund
I’ve got no oil to keep grime and rust away
I’m running empty
so please
ship me up above
ship me back anew

I’m
callow scum on the floor of the world
mellow bum on the parking lot

I have been
chewed and spit out
worn and thrown away

I was
someone’s precious child
yesterday’s bloom and shiny star

but I will never be again,
forever.

I like to pretend that I’m upset to hide the fact that I don’t care.
I simulate fits of rage and bite people on the cheek to protest against
the dwindling state of the world. I cry wolf whenever I see a TV ad, and
wear aluminum foil on my head for protection.
They human gods who pursue to change people’s destinies
will not reach into my mind mess with their colorful, sellable verbose.
But I feel a tidal force crushing and rushing me at the bottom of this
increasingly aseptic world machine.
I cannot move with the flow,
the fickle crowd in a fleeting delirium seek easy lynches and moral short cuts
and then proceed to build new schools.
It is self preserving sanity not to care and long only for the ocean.

we can hold hands and try not to stumble
against the strong wind
we might hang onto electric poles
and dream a light beyond our lips and fingertips
but the sunset approaches, and
we cannot not last in the dark.
Daylight is all we have,
my jacket and your heart are full of holes
our coins can afford us a one way bus trip to
the flat city where the future calls.
my darling one, how many more shades of pain
must we wear before allowing ourselves to drift away
from one another and shrivel in secret?

I need another version of the “live life to the fullest” phrase ,
I need it now, a quick word injection thundering through my vein
and spiraling me away from right now where full isn’t what is cracked up to be,
and fullest is a sharply pricking thorn.

The best conversations I’ve ever had were with myself or while
chattering away with the walls of my living room when no one else was around,
and bursting into laughter from my own humorous remarks.

It all comes naturally
like the impulse to hug, climb trees when I feel friendly towards them
hearing them live subtly in the open, peaceful and quiet
and listening to the playful wind move the tree branches here and there
is an experience of sumptuous beauty,
a world of sounds without words.

Sleepless at night I ask the ceiling to open up and let me see the sky,
and my dear friend the moon comes softly shining,
shares vibrant timeless stories and
looks over me while the stars build up my night dreams.

Outside the bar club, the violent youth wait
for sneakers and boots to find their target
between a kid’s ribcage.
Someone should have told the kid
getting smashed to pieces
not to live like a mollusk with the skeleton on the outside.
This is not a place for the weak,
the muscle is holly, the muscle is king,
and the fragile, the hero die young.

Before I die I hope to write words,
brilliant words, simple words
that move, elate, contort , extort heart,body and soul.
Cerebral, skin deep words, magical words,
ship-like carrying on into this metropolis, country, galaxy
like a new breath binding the soul to the crisp page.
blue effervescent words eliciting a bit of mirth and reverie.
trenchant, hip words, biting, slick words for the world to bleed or lick.
Then only then will I be able to justify my long existence
while he, she, sublime creature lived one minute and passed away the next.

Today,
done with the finals!
In a year time
bye bye the bum
farewell freeloading habits
One more upstanding citizen will grace the world
and do as the world wants
pay taxes, recycle, watch TV, buy stuff,
embrace the existence/ inexistence of a god,
sit on piles of credit cards,
listen to the radio and die a slow death
with thoughts of youth wasted in ampheatres
for a paper degree that not even fruff the dog cares about
even though nursed and fed by the paper.

I’m a dreamer even when dreams crush and
lash out a vitriol: ” I’ve got no fuel to go on”
The void in my mind turns into a lush dream
where to be empty is to be filled with space.
Infinite and blue.

My brain is getting out of hand,
a little gem of insight sprouts into erratic thoughts,
and I scatter and stumble into this big nothingness,
this empty space between my body and the ceiling.
The blankness around gains on me, and I’m feeling
blurry each passing day. So I bought

an amaryllis to rebuild my pathway to humanity
but it withered the next day,

a bird to cage down my fears
but it pushed daisies the following day,

a cat to obtain celestial graces
but it purred and asked me to go away

once I was a star-eyed child
standing still
between a muddy earth and a glistening sky and
dream of fire and God.
I had not learned how to tip toe
I was lighter then,
and silence was still.

Give me a holiday without
holes beneath my feet,
clowns dancing above my head.
oh a holiday,
a holiday’s
scent of lilac and jasmine,
soft and intoxicating.

The sky is my home
a roof I won’t lose
In the torment of night the moon smiles softly,
the silver rays ease my heart, and
breathing feels enough.

Convince others that one sees the world exactly as it is, rotten and unreedemed, and understands that one will change nothing of it not even our aging bodies.
Yet believe in the secrecy of ones soul that one can improve the world, even the neighbor of stage who sneers and cackles when she sees you.
Make her beautiful like politics, noble like justice, and generous like life. All turn in circle, so and how little it matters if she is vicious, if one is vicious, if the world is old, because all turn and stop not. Otherwise it’s death, the death people loathe or welcome, which despite everything never misses its secret rendez vous and lurks in silence, prompt to gather someone, anyone in its arms at the least excessive sign. The anguish of being no more is banal, one wears it on the forehead like an invisible tag:”will die one day”, and engraved in the feisty spirit:”as late as possible.”
Nothing is to be done, one is born mortal. Nevertheless, everyone precipitates ones life differently. Some people save and manage life like the budget of a country with an imminent crisis, others consume life intensely and fast as if they have only few minutes left. Most people, however, either resort not to think about it or emulate someone else life.
Still none of it matters, life holds everyone in the palm of her hand, and magnanimously question ones existence. She tickles and throws ones vulnerability in the face by simply asking: “who are you?”, and “what are you doing here on earth?”