Sunday, January 13, 2013

Room no 34

you are back.
I like staying with you
writing about you while staying with you
you take away time from my lungs
and give it to me
your complains, your breathlessness
your blurry stares at the remaining 
your sincere projections, my proven futile
seven pushes out, your no pull ins.

It takes me a cigarette to stabilise what you do
A cigarette, a fogged street and a few cold bones.
cut to
an x-ray machine
the machine that turns everything into black and white
the white succumbing to the black disappearing
reminds me of the television screen
cut to
its blue indigo asthalin neon light

a genetic predispisation
an environment highsound
reasons of feeling your breath

I have visions, they are yours
no mountains, no grains
I squatting inside a watermelon
you pulling at the flush 
cutting across my cheek
saying that's how it rains
A self obstruct button that I pressed
to blast off on a mission to a planet where something is free
to play with my memories
and there are no thought thieves

Monday, October 24, 2011

there is this
and there is that
but what happened

Thursday, May 12, 2011


Hello time!
So blissfully awry
Milky legs in dustman’s bucket
Meet me across the black expanse
To sleep.
So, what do you dream of?
Come, sit unraveled.
So, where do you long?
Wake up with me in this delicious oblivion
Toss over the edge of our sleep
Cigarette? No?
Any parting stars?
Yes? I have overspent upon a cloud.
And the watermark on our sinking sail.
So, you come no longer?
Yeah we have been dining on unbound lightyears.
So there is this poet I know
Who tosses spinach to bask in all that is wrong?
No, you can sleep more!
Wall to wall, in a vile, but only till past nine
I will come make love to you
If I am late, start without me
Then we create, not without decay, something fine
mythic, mystic, mathematic
Not like you!
too much sense and swing
Forcibly expanding the arena of my closed eye
Beating my back
with re-echoes of a seductive misuse
much trouble
much laughter
much burning
under the leap of your feet
No, you can sleep more!
So tightly woven
Like an unnatural waistcoat
made of universal silk pelvic thrusts
Don't worry! 
You will wake up just as the same friend!
As pure as the driven slush
No! No! you can sleep more
I still have to pass the hour under glass.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Tonight's yesterday

From appetizers, bar
flymouth people swarming
older than we are
"Are you coming?"
"Get off of me!"
Knock! knock! knock! fingers
No one covers those sewage holes
thin lightstreaks on crusty poles
In dark faces were blinking
Many, many disorders
Trucks, wheels, wheels, street lights
Not much sense my lips mention
your home I go
in life dieing, them spying
following the voice of the night-heron
I was being told
I could wheel & deal. Spinning
my hair into gold
horror floods the gaps of devastaion
here i was, there to be

Monday, April 11, 2011

Lazy flies

It seems to be resignation
in real response.
I am including any sensitive touch,
Each involuntary embrace
and travel of the pressure when too scared.
Behind your back becomes immoral.
Aware of the lazy flies
sip the water we take in the throat,
but then everything disappears and you just
I want to smash everything refuge.
I'm looking forward to any messages
even if their content appears to
be unsatisfactory.
If only I could be a hybrid
Your dreams about women, so
Who can disown themselves now
Spread my paints,
that on a scrap of cardboard, which
have been given the most to me.
It will be a good excuse
too long for my scream.
What I cannot give,
exceeds the size,
I can give it.
I am not waiting for you to be thinking

I am looking out of the window
Like a light in the smoky bars, drunken,
that helps out.
Returns sensitivity
shows up in every gesture
before the body becomes too light.

Making a meal of me now
you’re the perfect host.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Mortal Recoil

There is no passing through this
There is no passing through this
there is a seven year old night waiting
while the odds come and stay
as drain seeps out the lava
and bang my doors like a day
a day that is done to death
throbbing in the middle of my palm
I have been caught staring at it
out, out, out are all the lights
out all, in some rain sucking green ground
i don't know the sound
but it flaps its wings through the invisible woe
crawling shapes in my scenic solitude
through solid ebony
above serpents of colored fires
fruit trees yes fruit trees
no flies and no original slaves
i can only afford those stamps now
i write to you, hence
three hours later from where I am
blow the brief candles
its an end to a lot of pain
its an end to a lot more. 

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Sink and liquid taps

Never did these pencils go around buying vegetables and lipsticks
red yeah maybe those lonely nights of photographs and whiskey
coloured words and puking a rainbow after drinking brawls