You will not find poetry anywhere unless you bring some of it with you. Joseph Joubert

Monday, April 27, 2009


i have thought not to wash it
let my corset be haunted by
your sweat...

i haven't washed my lips yet
and starving since that day
i dont want the stain of your saliva
to smudge
and the lashes of your hungry tongue..

and pastels over my throat
and down the bird's nest...
i feel i am growing within
from a waste to identity...

Sunday, April 26, 2009

For my Brown Boy..

Can you paint a Winter landscape with
blue temples and puss and blood clot

a sex enchantress down the barberry isle,
in a lunar template, beside the lonely lake?

the occult priest can. One who prophesies
nightingales in the veins and slurp on beauty

and gaze at red kimono pinnacles
sugar dipped lips in ambiguous packs.

Black forest hunching on the shoulders
Of the red-wine woods and slit…

The priest is my man, my surrealist
Strumming the impulse and orgasm blues

Love stricken serpent, smoky path crawling
Playing the white keys of the pout keyboard

Grilling all that these bodies worth
Unison, a gamut of passion and apteryx!

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Thoughts of a local lotus

The pyrogenic
sun that debates love
is cubical at the order

a frog
an amphibian male
seeking the lotus shade
away from mathematical

* * *
The life of a seed
Is seeded in the fruit born of it
Psychology transcending from
And trickles down in darkness
Ink of dismissed liquid eye

across that window
The sun is shunning his eyebrows…

* * *
My stray dog
In search of bones and numbers
That labels
Wounded genitals
Of burnt prisoners
Huddling across the purple-stone bay

Cannibalism devours
Species of poetry
Not me
But the grey intellects
To bisect the
polemical beauty
Of sex
beneath every face…

Saturday, April 18, 2009


the trumpet cloud
and metaphors
running string through
dead, divine hopes

the plate is so green
and breathing silhouettes
tracking gills
of liquid fishes

brown lips
and the boat pose for a sail
bewitched by colours
and wings-
of Iphigenia

surreal fleet
so interstellar
floating down
a log
the shore
of music
naked wounded


the skirt that nature
wear often

sown to distress
lips cannot put in a smoke
nor bleed a seed

will sing to hymen
the stories of the ships
and sea

men lost in the leaves
the roses often shade
They sink

bottomless sea
anchoring the fragile soil

white ink
white ink
that writes nothing...

Thursday, April 16, 2009


love don’t wrong me for the carved slit
my blood wanted to meet you
a Postmortem Testament

not a drop of blood
Away from me,
You flow within
Into the Black Sea

A heart tossed across
Like a pebble into air
And the violent sea within
Has to appease her fury

A thirst that twined into oblivion
dead leaves crumpled, red.
A dismembered hope
Of planting a nerve in the blue

The drums were me
The bass, the acoustic, the metal veins
My gypsy skirt into support stand
I rendered beats
I rendered a play

not a drop of blood
away from me,
You flow within
into me.

Monday, April 13, 2009


Beaked leaves
scratching fate
that vehicles sealed to highway earth

Shades absent
on naked winter
and branches that poke the white


1. R
wounded lights
electric that lash
the grass
on your eyes
like mantle smoke
that scorches
high end fashion
ribs fall open
when music thuds
on her skin
she shouts loud

2. R
I felt it
the drops in you
the neurosis that
the musk
that is steady through
Silence of
purple wounds

3. K
Blue night
And the moisture
on your palace
the heat
that seals my lips
mood is
a moment's season
that looses in
the maze of your hair
And when love
unbuttons the chest
It happens
liquid flowers
for a summer
with you.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

A Line Poem

A liquid blue bench and the street neon kissing its neck

An invertebrate elegance snow-printed crawling along

An audio memory unspooled, fingers unwinding the reel

All that is spun have heard the howling of the moon

Easy like a divine train into the hungry lair

A neurosis, is wanted, like brazen warmth in ferocious cold

And poets fall like drops of salvation from the anxious air

Like brown beans under the white, limbs throb for mollusk

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

ashes of Truth

And yet we think that those rocks pave unto us: savage annihilation
the fire copulates and roses resurrect in ash
wreath of tissues dipped in morphine...
dust of blue, i stamp, more blue into air

like God singing through his white ribbons
that ties the pulsating gift
mad spring now wounds her own land
to bury more songs, more boneless leaves

What else but to wink like a clown
and freeze the molested into snow
black lizards and red bats
in the countered kitchen of thin piano

The way one allows memories to seep
one allows not the nectar to trickle but lick
the art of wiping all that is white within
strikes as if prayers stung by bee

like every day is fashioned fresh: stretches the unstretchable
black berry is someday a jackfruit
and kitten another day an wolf
gallops like whims of unfathered child

catastrophe is an original built.

Monday, April 6, 2009

A handsome return

Like melting impressions
thick in the air I breathe
as I held against the roof balustrades

My atelier has saved lead-powder
Bottle of polluted tears
a pair of rulers to scale the iceberg
and incense for a dead martyr

There is a painter
who has thrust nobility in reflections
that reflections can stare patiently
till men wear realization.

The spread underneath my fancy
where baboons copulate
evening is cheating notes
beneath the winter desk.

For oil and colour
He has clipped his staple,
Played the mandolin at silver coast
No one heard is music, not even food.

Summoned him in oriental dreams
Where butterflies wear makeup
And bees are built of honey.

None, but a blank within
Which he had to fill
With fruits and sweets
Peek-a-boo in a lead jungle

And then the dark sockets
Stars smashed by disorder
Landscape burnt like a piece of paper
And bullet-gems here and there

He admit his life like a joke
No one did laugh at his grandeur
He has made all animals of his ash
An ecclesiastical geometry…