Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Night Vision

I do not take the darkness seriously as I do not perceive skin as it is,
nothing but a string of slightly yellow, bright light
to my eyes.
Neither do I take seriously, or even perceive, for that matter,
the lack of his lingering presence on my back.
Wishful thinking, you might say, but I'd rather dismiss it as gentle breeze,
that just happens to shroud me softly some times at night.
Why being attached to notions that do not entertain or comfort me, in times like these?
There is a math to it all, trying to deconstruct the patterns that entrap and isolate one
from recovering feelings and memories,
or from finding new ones that serve their purpose - 
such as air shaped as him, or the shiny trail left by a lightning bug that may be actually disguised as my skin.
It might still be around, if there is just enough...

Friday, November 18, 2011


Sucked his cheeks in
but they didn't return
Locked tongue
and saliva
Cheeks in
his grin
they didn't return.

Thursday, November 03, 2011


She had the rare gift of being a god without faith
or believers. Eyes roadworn, physical idol deteriorating,
but still the constant wakefulness sustained.
Sacred and inane.

Friday, October 28, 2011


It pours out of my mouth, silent
Only to hit the ground with a strident cry
and punch me back in the chest,
stomach and liver
Teeth sliding out
into the ocean
Water in distinct waves decoding the struggle
to breathe
through the punch that turns all incomplete
Left on a ground is it:
bundle of organs, open teeth, dirty ocean
and a voice still contained.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011


Ropes for Knots

Friday, September 30, 2011

waiting. for the crash to take place. but disappointed.
will collide tomorrow?

Tuesday, September 13, 2011


Exhaled smoke is not always as thick as you wish it would be
It gets troubled in between the thick atmosphere
and fades rather quickly
Though you can still arrange the columns of dreams
even if they will not reward you enough for it
They are still the most meaningful combinations
And their sense will guarantee itself
throught the nights and the dreams
that are not burdened by physical discomfort
or sudden, killing alarm rings
that kill memories too

Dreams are memories, 
if you are not yet aware of it.
Just write them down, maybe it will help
to build down the better
of molecules
in the atmosphere

Very Unoriginal Verses and Structure (Whatever Was Meant By Then)

The discussion remains
And the body still lays in between
Outside still screams against the violence and the inside still roars
Against the silence and the waves that insist to come
Looming still is the menace, everlasting and still unsolved

A war still establishes itself, solid and concrete
While, sometimes, distraction itself invades the plot
As if a whole generation of wild nature grew its deepest weed
And broke easily the own structure's weakest spot
But distraction is blewn away by any wind

A claim is made, by the absence of any other,
that the battle is to go on
Soldiers galore, there is energy for enough violence to support
But not enough to lose or to win
Each throw of each blow brings closer the final step,
the death of one side yet to begin
But will any of each survive without the other within?

The discussion remains,
dressed as an angst apparently long knewn by the ones who watch
Though, still, both warriors face the same raging rains,
and living tears will merciless still crush
them both

Thursday, July 07, 2011


The power ice possesses
of freezing each particle and frame
Each second as it remains the same
as before
I feel the same in your blissful, emotional presence
as if our moments were frozen in stone
and preserved for all eternity to see
that there is real bliss to be seen in this still world
There is enough that is not wasted
or tired or yet roadworn
There is beauty to be born
and that may survive
I hope that I won't close my eyes
until I watch such miracle unfold.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Under Cover

Her unbelieving and barely tearful eyes.
Wishing she was blind, postponing her waking tide,
she faced clear and outlined disappointment.
Not feeling damaged by her increasingly damaged health,
but actually by her increasingly conscious self,
that insisted on poking her with its sticks of shame and regret.
She felt powerless and faux to the bone,
and wished for once she was forever alone
so as not to deceive or misguide anyone in a close range to her.

There was enough damage done,
but it kept on showing over, regardless of how much of her quilt
was being lifted upon

Monday, June 06, 2011


If that page disappeared yesterday,
would you be bothered by the gap in narrative?
The content was mostly very cryptic, subtly psychological,
and self-consciously analytical in nature,
but maybe not essential to your comprehension of the whole.
Was it ever, after all?

The page may happen to be floating to some foreign wind,
also ignorant of your story being told.
But could it really unfold in any chapter other than your own?
Words thrown to the breeze, characters lost to some weird rhyme,
scribbled in a page you may not care to even notice.
An essay on the uninteresting spirit
vanishing, without effort, on the sly.

It is not missed, neither can survive,
as it reckons in the absence of your watchful eyes.

Sunday, April 17, 2011


In my house of mirrors.
I stride and glide throughout its corridors
Followed by an accusing glance on every wall
Each perspective weighing on my silhouette a new judgement
As each step brings nigh the meeting with my own shadow
The reflections sing and dance and hop out of harmony
Each one to its own fit of madness or epiphany
But I willingly proceed on to ignoring the circus
A soft, salty breeze slipping through my heels
As the walking on continues

Surrounded but alone
Ridiculously self-aware, as if the walls didn't remind me all along
Remaining hidden from them, still
Fiercely fearful of the outside view
It may be said it is barely surviving in here
In my house of mirrors

The distortions held dear will somehow keep me company
Even if they laugh or scream in waves of pent-up anger at my naked face
In the sane confusion of these years, kept will be the pace
The pain of a fallen bird may be multiplied in such territory, but at a price fair enough if it is to see
The rising flight of victory, again
Watch I will the whole phenomenon, as grounded as ever
And as the walking on continues.

Monday, January 31, 2011


smoke swirling
from my mouth
skywards high
smoke is whispering deeply
that it vanishes only seemingly
but remains in the eternity
of clouds
thoughts of nebula
thoughts of fire,
red thoughts of someone
i once knew