Nights of the living young

An hourly child
sucks nipples
in doorways

where pants leak
morphine like change
for the night's sexual transmissions

as their mothers
stand half-dressed
like empty syrettes

poking at the moon's
asshole all night long,
waiting to be milked

Confessions to the moon

Did you see me walking by the ridge
one legged to keep me from falling
into the arms of a dream,
the new growths on a darkening torso

Dawn is carried around in a handbag
that reduces shoulders to ash
whenever hope walks along the
arms of a common heartbeat

Did you see me,dissemble my desires
over stones like cutting fingers
when even the smell of morning
left me hanging over the kitchen sink

Night is a bold queen
that undresses in daydreams
and pricks like a scalding trident
cutting through body and soul

Did you see me,never look at you
like i never looked at seraphs
that were fed to me through
tubelights and emerald book covers

Life is like a bubble of vaccum
An emptiness in this thick air
I never asked you to be beautiful
You just are

Junky

O night's kitchen
has dawn hatched out of an egg
for i'm flattered by cartoonish growth.

Painting after a nightcap

She smiles like fire
staring from above the clouds
When the sun slips between
her sweating legs,piloted by my tongue

The roof blindfolded with aprons
of a deaf mistress speaking to my taste
moves slowly,like snow
ambling over water

I grab avenues from the air
and hide them behind her head
resting upon which
is the tremolo of near death

She believes this is as far
life will let us be,
In the dark, her white bodice
is the burning shadow of my underskin

There is this murmur that elevates
dirt from the floor
like magnetic doornails
perforating through a metallic draught

To all graves of our antiquity
with a mouthful of the mortal earth
i kiss goodbye,i kiss goodbye

Continue

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