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Morning,says
You are not
the first
You are not
the last
of anything.....

Walking the line

The strokes on my palms disappeared
when black and white dogs
walked like simple visions of the past
i stood between,on the noisiest street
shaking with the stir of
beams brown with years of rain

They wore blood like beach shirts
with the pockets
glowing like flourescent taps
that bled into the sewers
the ineptitude of love
that i licked from under their feet
all my life

Stopping by a traffic light

I see this old woman beneath
the arc of an aflutter traffic light,everyday
She carries with her little plastic bottles
filled with daylight and painted black on the outside
that she drags along the road,to keep them warm
i think

The sun is not kind on her,
For he too has grown old with her
So i ask her why does she need the bottles

She tells me there are little children
made of wax waiting for her at home

The night would become a hiding place
for all those who will end up seeking..

The traffic light collapses to a green subsistence
as her hands tremble against a masculine roar
i have an old sun to race against

A song for you

Have I ,for you a song

Myth and reality meet
in the bubble of love
as some unformed life
keeps me on the highways
all night
searching for lids of empty
garbage cans gawking
like black envelopes
that i shall hold
along opposite sides of the planet

all night long,as you my love
lay hastily close to your destiny

a song,not this

have i,a song for you

As large as life...

Panting below the sea
In some dreadful,lost
shimmer from a broken treenail's
journey over fire
that serves our hunger


A heartache so tender
as the flower that dies
in the hands of earth
washed and amassed over steel gates
that fence troubled waters from the shore

Ashen,with the shoulders
of dusk to carry our bodies
forward,Life's faces change
like the insipid flickering
of a dark star in your head

behind your watchful eyes...

Nation/notion

There is no bad religion,
not a bad coin

Yet buddha dropped many
over bridges

to be engraved with republic faces

Floods come and go

Sexual Orchestra

The space between the sheets and the roof
is skied by red umbrellas,blowing away
in the wind that passes between your legs
My face shudders like a tin can
kept out in the rain,
in which i preserved myself
all this time,it took you to gather love
from underneath my tears
Your hands remind me of fresh autumn
slinking tepidly along my spine
kissing flowers that now grow out of me
In your eyes i find constant hate
for the morning,cut into pieces
as little white crystals that i
drink,mixed with your new found nubility
as i glide from one side to the other
with you as my vessel