Motive

I swallowed you by mistake, 

as a rather cheap excuse

to dive into the comfort of my own allowing.

Metropolis

The most sickening city there ever was

happened on the inside,

and remained overpopulated with the scum of wishes aborted midterm,

bastard offspring driving wildly through the avenues of his skewed reasons.

Every disturbing citizen rushing towards downtown, where the festival took place

as the sun went down and incinerated the urban maze.

"Chaos bleeding", you would say, but rather subterranean than exposed,

subtle confusion that bled into every wound of asphalt that pulsated,

living organism without a living purpose.

The grand mystery, lacklustre in nature,

inspired not even the mildest glow of curiosity:

how such complex civic structure, in such a terrible shape of inherent disarray,

did not crumble into itself, left to the dust and vermin.

Maybe some fault is to be held against the foreigners that treaded the poisoned land,

with healthy hearts and solid bones to offer, and willing to breathe out clean air.

Still, no effort has proven enough to bring light and stability,

leaving the streetlights forlorn

and the insides hurting ever closer to the core,

before returning to form.

A society is yet to be born.

Geography

If north depends on where you are,

what is ever certain or solid?

Facsimile maps of self are fraying,

flawed rivers not flowing,

landscape broken but

wielding a compass,

still.

You kick feeble, familiar rocks off the way, into a cliff,

for no other reason than to learn.

Is south where you are, or were you

even willing to be?

Salt Water

A walking body of information

roaming freely throughout the red earth.

Its stare bleak, and in it imprinted pictures of death,

which seemed to be always too close to the chest.

Late lunches and heavy silences falling straight to the ground

from the body, the way concrete would fall,

but not breakable like a stone. 

Accumulated residue from weeks and months of 

waste.

The only pulsating light is still there, little life

that blows by like wind and shakes to the wind too,

on red sands.

If someone could capture the scene in a single take,

it would seem to be eternally in motion.

And beautifully so.

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...

Painstakingly

Sucked his cheeks in

but they didn't return

Locked tongue

and saliva

stuck

Cheeks in

his grin

they didn't return.

Pedestal

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.