I’m alarmed
How nothing leaves me
How shadows take my taste instead
It leaks a yellow liquid
Like a wound making it harder to read
Tag Archives: Esoteric
my name
while trying to comb my hair
forgets who i am
in this room, this room that rocks itself
back and forth searching for gulfs
where silence dissolves into green waves
filled with nibbled portraits
enchanted, impenetrable with spirit
with ghosts, with ashes
committing adultery on my bed
undressing my names
rewarding me with faith
forgive my delirium
i am in love with its likeness
their hands full of copper’d coins
in this abstract that surrounds me
selflessly reassuring me
there is never really an end
uncovering
the whiteness of this page
your foam, your flank
I’d swear I’ve been here before
scrapping your names out of the dust
rescuing these fallen syllables
with every breath desperately circling
shaping these line with a turquoise blast of wind
a cooler sun uncovering the writing beneath our skin
The tiny church
My adolescence
Anchored at the bay of my forehead
Was I that foolish
I myself who had wounded me
Engraving my imaginary tombs
Describing how God saved me
Would you prefer me to say it
With a smile of defeat
Well he did
I was multiplied
Turning men into things
Things into dust
My recurrent insomnia
It’s violent gender
Turning women into thousand year old girls
I am tired of writing this way
This strangeness always voicing without shame
May I read your palm and tell you the things
Worth dying from . . .
A little Poetry
Without any tricks
Miracles become the marginal role
Weighing my skin in this darkness
The voices
The names
The hands of my old man trembling upon my chest
Collecting armful shelves
Inscribing the birthed punctuality
The brief audience spinning for change
Confined leprosy passageways
Guiding me combed
Licking my quoted head
Erratically removing the paganism instilled
The talks the white bearded temples
Angel crashing with gloom
Waiting for me to readjust with touch
Their cross with tiny marbles
Terracotta beads with fruit
Purple thorns with passion
Forging their hung air with memory
Their wounded feet with livers
With livers who process impatiently
Who love organically and true
