We
Sing in graveyards
We
Dance in burning rooms
We
Color bones, with magic markers
We
Rest in the eye of hurricanes

What´s more remarkable, still
we
laugh at what isn´t funny
we

There is a vast empire
where

mats of woven light
power the cities

Giving
petty butterfly space
to creatures of the sun

trapping them
in pandora's box

keeping everyone

--even her

A higher pitch
could explain

why clouds move
in your presence

a subtle
voice of pollen

the scent
of your flower

Beyond,
the land of divine vanity

In a meadow
not a mere detail

Sit Beside Me

Hear the raindrops
Penetrate the ears of trees

The willows
Ask the wind
To thrust their branches

to you

Just
To get a taste
Of your name

Jacqueline,

Bartender of Barcelona
Margarita
Straight, No Salt

You always were
as the crow flies
Supposed, short-cuts to you
Led to meadow death traps instead

In such a rush

To reach no where

Pick your poison
in the land of the devil

Weed, the grazy grass of love
Ecstasy, dreaming birds of the sky
LSD, heaven's raindrops

may it all
be pure
as the heroin
that runs through

Sunday morning
Yesterday’s cigars smelt like him
Bold
Specific in their smell

Just like my father

Always hyper
Sometimes amusing
Never genuine

Just like my father

His drinking

A blunt face
Of a mad women
Or a genius

Maybe, both

All year round
There are Christmas lights, in view
Anticipating
when seasons of rain

Will rinse their colors
However they never do

Nurse Nancy

Every Thursday afternoon
Spent

Digging graves
As ghosts kneel
At her gruesome feet

There to scrutinize
deep piercings of soil
throwing away
grubby memories in dirt

They live
They Die
What’s another fly off the wall?

Purgatory
Crammed with harlots, beggars and scum
Supplementary people

Harlot Mary sold herself
for a dollar fifty

To die for your love
Seems bland
Unlike me

A waste of time

To die for your fantasy

Outside viewers
Claim they see insanity

They always do
When they fail
The mission of explanation

Regret
Is a pleasure

For the
self-effacing

But you—

A lion mane
With hidden mistakes

Dormant, but aggravated
in this new-found territory

Awaiting
They day
They’ll pounce

He alleged
To be awestruck
with the colors of sand

that flowed through my hair
like the water of the nile

Vivid eyes
He named them

Plant Green
Full of life

In the least,
They were

Technically
Natures mistake
Merely

In technical terms, though

Constructive criticism; they call it
Reality, being
A game of domino

Trying to knock down; the chip of weakness

Born in the corner
Proper shadow, hauling her
When all inform her; it’s
To be
The other way round

In truth, she
Is to be ignored

Heart made of wood
Carved, detailed
But one whittle