Sunday, November 29, 2009
Even fingers do it tenderly on a key-board
And violently within
This is in my twenties
I pee on plurality
It is all about you and me.
Under the roof of sunset
I loose the tap to break down
On my tired feet twitching over spam
i dab against the virgin twilight
and strike past the liquid mirror…
My words are well with
Or without braces
Sharp and strong on tender meat
you. You have never been yourself
like my words.
You are a well dressed being
With hooves and in hoses
You have been Brutus to your impulses
…And brutal to my poem.
Friday, November 27, 2009
That apple you had from Eden
Is half-gotten down the pelvis
Of your throat
I just left a paint mark
To trace back in the event of fall
When nests are younger than supposed
Not loosing myself in the dearth of crayons
Its when the brown Vitruvius
Jumped out the tangle of cotton
And drilled in me fireflies
And a stark song hacked of his trunk.
Its when silence drummed aloud
The seven symphonies of sin
And the bed whistled
at Pleasure walking down..
Nibbling at fables
I never saw a monster
Caressing my tender…
I have never felt cobwebs
Could knit a better winter coat
And the fume of mosquito coil
Would rage my indolent evening….
So much you can connect
Between the flute-stand the Octopus
resting down the pelvis.
; a window that transcends my height.
A shoal of life from the smoking nib…