I am produced

To site a few times that the sky
has refused to turn bluer than I am, its difficult to proceed this way.
For these are those few times
when the pavements
have buried jingles of poverty
and soon today I am to walk them
and then again on crossroads
I haven't seen you for too long
and you know
these pavements have buried our footsteps
along dark morning walks
and the secret glances
with few memories and fewer sounds
that came out
fainter,outstripping and tied
from my window that lived in that wall.

...

Tonight we lie
for tonight is too lovely a night to die
and tonight I can forgive you again
Some words fight
some cry
some just laugh like a watermelon
licking the drooling alphabets
I don't seem to write something new
language has grown quite old
everyday they say
starts a brand new day
and everyday a brand new day dies
listen! for there is no other day
listen for tomorrow is gone
listen for you will have to follow me when I run
for I will run every time the day is done
I have a ship hidden in the forest
it has tattoos disclosing my mime
it has fortune sleeping on it
the moon shines on it all the time
and there is nothing romantic about it
from the creepers
to the branches
and weeping flowers
we shall climb on to it and fly
no need to come closer
no need to find comfort
no need to be wanting a tie
tonight I can forgive you again

for tonight is too lovely a night to die

tonight we just lie

Unsaved

An absurd dream last night
waking up to Camus next to my bed to tell me that
knowing that this obnoxiously determined absent soul
doesn't strive to but will live
walls are filled up to the brim, the roof
illustrations and breath of a missing human life
a brilliantly ridiculous beginning
a flow of solid massive things
time moving in two and fro
so! I am now between yes and no
the empty smell of him billowing in my balcony
I have a shirt of his
I wash it evry day
and I put it to dry in the public
I wonder if the neighbours realise
he doesn't live here anymore.
Dishevelled, falling pieces of puzzle
tremendously bored and marvellous
as the day moved on, closed in
fornicated and read the papers.
Am I asking for too much?
I dnt even remember asking anything.
My short story book by Kafka is missing
Is it with you?
Who is it with?
Who is with me?
Trying to watch a black out on a colour TV
Clearer vision I demand
should I get a set top box?
big brother is watching all of us
does the big brother have an equally big sister?
And what does she do?
Sit behind a curtain in the church and hear confessions?
Or enter a brothel by mistake?
Does she get it everynight from a stark revolutionary man?
Is it a wide open radical thought process?
Children, mothers, preganent men
Red light, green light, make up your mind!
This is not original
its just usual
an integral part of my grown up life
like owning a car or falling in love
or wanting to live in images and not arguments.

Pain killer

Hell-oh! everybody
Gaaah you are here!
To the poor! Big and small
since there is a lack of funds
we present to you
Death by a hairball
All fucking good is leaving my soul
pain giving birth to painful creations
broken filling, mental drilling
Oh curse the bane, of survival pain
I'd be killing, if you are willing
to cease refrain of molar's pain
lemme drown you
lemme drown you
lemme drown you in purple rain
damn you motherfucker purple pain!
I took the pill, and downed with swill
pain's vacation, pure elation
pain is like a child you said
one day will grow up and do something for you
to feed, till the last drop I'd milk out my chest
and then it will grow up and stare at my breast
Ah! Lovely!
We must be aware
Of the Culture Of Murder
It’s been building for years
we must know the facts
you right there are an ass
In an empty office a lone monitor stands
I'd work on the key board with scissorhands
cut! cut! cut! cut!
copy you sloppy!
knives out
catch the rot
grind his head
put it in the pot
shove it in your mouth
I only want to see you
see you drown
Oh yeah, drown
You purple pain
In the purple motherfucking rain!

You leave my eyes

Drenched in sweat I don't cry
fearing I would spoil you
to be running around the desert
so dry I would soil you
could you sit there between my eyes
run like a stream of charcoal
till the fire dies
and burns the hole in my soul
you are my special religion

you are my blind faith
is it important to talk to you?
black are grapes
black are the drums
black is the new green
and the bruise on my thumb
There will be no smell
no discoloration
and then you try crawling out of my eye
and you slowly spread your fingers on my cheek
near the nose and across the lips
you flow as the waters leak
waters of the cries
and strange good byes
waters of vein loss and bloodshot hearts
waters cutting old ties
stop peeping through the eyes wide shut
why do u shift when somebody removes you?
you stop my eyes from detecting light
from all that they are supposed to do
covering the stab of my electric impulses.

Idaho

You say the gods are more use to you than fairies
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break
birds against the wind
over the river, on the hill
there are three ways in which men take
and she knows a cheap release
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
just as my fingers on these keys
I wonder where you live
will you come tonight
the door keys are under the mat
sitting in my rocker waiting for your tea
who will be naming the wind

the hypocritic days
in the autumn of my winters
green afternoon serene and bright
hazy, blur, falling and loud
if i should go, think only this of me
that I don't wanna know
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
at all little things as little as me

shoebox

There is so much missing right now
the keys to my old room, the burnt frying pan
the ash filled sheets of bed between our legs
the too small a bathroom and the smaller the door
the withered lizards through day and night
sometimes hiding sometimes out there
out here under my favorite blue bulb, red bulb
the uncovered underwears
the moist smell of never washed clothes
and those slip sliding smoke rings
those papers, newspapers, toilet papers
curling, burnt rolling papers
the fear of sitting under the roofs of skyscrapers
now are here with the words
that read themselves over written on
the notes of
groceries
house deposits
bills
time
and poetry.

Niyah!

The taste of dirt so sly

you look in the mirror and wonder why

the same seasons and thundering skies

the muck splattered on my days

You warn me

The mirth in my eyes you can see

And then you let me

Touch you

You were less than a stranger

You left in such hurry

I didn't think to wish you luck

It would be better living backwards

With a bruised memory like mine

I get surprises in the past

Even they wouldn't last

I am guessing

I don't know

I want more when I am denied