While drinking the long night
you became taller than the eternal
question, bitten by the moon.
Witch-hunting will not stop
in oligarchy. A human right
stands on the ivory gate to enter the dust.
The weightlessness is paraded
nude amongst the full-lipped
follies of ornamental speech.
The duende was lacking in palace.
Rivals held the moonlight.
Now the muse will become celibate.
A giant mantis hops on a podium
to bless the dying god, and the candle
burns whole night.
Do I have a choice
before knifing the page
for a meaning, when I was
drowned in a nostalgia?
Cinchona bark. This was my
keyword for living bitterly
under a tryant inciting
the riots of colors.
The digital death comes as
a reward for insane truth.
You turn the back on home
and walk towards the sea
to count the empty shells on beach.
Here life completes a cycle
from emptiness to emptiness.
You are ready to go in void.
(On the death of Steve Jobs.)
Put off the lantern.
I am waiting for the moon’s
primal face. The lesser flamingoes
were going to shed the pink color.
Nude as a python, the kiss
of pomegranates, kills by asphyxiation.
I suffer in the hands of protests.
The black ice now enters the eye of a needle.
A barefoot noun feeds the junta.
The butter babies will serve the poetry
of poor on the mats of principles.
I will remain unslept on straw.
A newspaper eats the story this side.
After the bloodbath surgeons weep.
An armless lover hugs a priest
for not calling the gods.
A silence speaks up at ungreen
age for an unknown, finding
dark matter in hiddenness
of sleazy light.
A dove in the valley of tulips
stops a flight for a wayfarer.
What was that persists,
in envioronment and bunkers?
Queen bee will decide for a spliced
dawn of honeycomb in a bloodless coup.
The stings were the torchbearers.
A smile comes out with a walker. The
vitals were dysfunctioning.
The end does not need any comma.
Standing in a milk line you were
talking of depravity, of blood lines
and the breast enhancement.
A teenage fringe bomber wants
to sew the civil society and explodes
himself before the empty bakery.
A young gal throws her son
from the ninth floor and then jumps
to get the justice from indifferent god.
Can we talk and wash away our
guilt? Crossing the river was
not enough, we need drinking water.
Bits of human flesh are plastered
on the walls. The death wears a
face of daddy to kill the times.
Carving out the white clouds
Like stanzas, unflawed.
Now I begin to fall apart.
No meaning was left in a drink.
You could see only your image
Drowning in a scented charity.
At last I am watching myself.
Black paper. The ink was white.
Speechless. No body language.
Only you will discover the space
Between the unspoken words.
Only buttons know the hollowness
Of a floating gun. Meeting you in
An empty glass. Future will always
Talk of a setting sun.
Graveyard of stillbirths.
I am walking on severed legs.
She was pushed off a moving train.
Could not be raped.
No I don’t see any sickly aberration.
It was ossification of stunted intellect.
Who was desperate to exit the hazy
flesh? Peel off my skin. It is dirty.
You are becoming furniture. Drunk.
Immovable. The bed was moving.
Holding the breasts of mannequins
you walk down the stairs for a rejoinder.
Stalking a poem
becomes a script.
At night it comes
to sleep in my bed.
A new verse.
I will reach you
in my ode,