Thursday, December 18, 2008


The woman sucking on a stone
imagined that it was a Persian nougat ball.
And she sucked on it with
the oblivion of a child left alone.
There -- nothing was mild.
Each blade was a prick.
Each glance -- a cut.
That's if you still had a gut
with which to feel or fear.
The metal gods overhead
shatterred the ground
each time you took the luxury to sit.
And nothing fit
the preconceived order.

Each day was new.
Granted by no one.
And you learned to chisel your words
to suit the terrain:
Like a woman that has
never been loved or desired.

I remember the fire.
I remember the fear.
And the child's cry.
I remember screaming:
My eye.
You lie.

But it didn't.
It really didn't.
It all really happened.
And so much more.
It did.

And who can uncover the lid
on that and stare into the nightmare once again?
At the:
Woman sucking on the stone
like onto her last breath.
And the children...
the crazed, hungry children
beating the dead donkey
to its second Death.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Nightmare or the Past

i thought of you
as they took their shot
at me
i thought of you touching me

i screamed
look at that horse
you covered my eyes with your hands and said
it’s only getting worse

cover your eyes, baby
cover your face
wipe that grin off your face
kill that craze

i thought of you
as they tried to shove
indifference into
me instead of love
i thought of banal rhymes
as i took my breath
you're the only man
who didn’t make me less
who never ever used force
i said, look at that horse

the horse was led
it was not white
the color of lead
the muscles the veins
the pain this life
with a lowered head
you face the crime
with eyes tight shut
with fists clenched
with teeth clutched
look at the henchmen

I thought of you
as they sliced his throat
free and dead
his body floated
into the night
violent cruel
soft red mouth
foam drooling
my head on his neck
his blood on my skin
yellow eye moist
inhale this sin

who are you, tell me
where have you gone?
no one
no one
he is your love
that you never did
you wounded whore
the one that kissed
and caressed your core
but he is gone
he was never here
you monster
you bitch
cry cry that tear’
made of the dead
their ashes inside
eating you
gnawing you
with a birds sharp bill
cry the blood and the salt
of your meat
you will


let's go to bed
you lick my tears
i'll get a fill
of yours
no fears
the streetlamp
outlines your body
can't see your eyes
glue yourself to me
them melt away -- the lies


gotta find me a substitute
to get over this pain
gotta plunge into oblivion
i'll be as right as rain

No. That's not it.
what i'll do is sit here
and blow on the wounds
and the lesions
to see just how deep they can get
just a bit a deeper, can you stand
ahh, there you are
you sadomasochist, you
seeing red splashes on blue


He sits there
in the subway car
coffee in his hand
and half-eaten memories
of the night
in his head.
How many were they?
to whom I gave head
one, two, three
after a while
they all look the same
the cocks
ass cheeks
oh, just wanted to
feel life
he sighs
life – if not in my heart
then in my mouth.
those cocks
thrusting back and forth
against my gullet
yellow cum
cum, the color of the old moon
on my lips
I inhale it all
and the loneliness
steps away
no longer gags
but then the night drags
as bodies lie breathing solemnly
freed from the weight
liberated from desire
I hide in the corner
touch myself
between my balls
still remain limp
it all just hangs there
like boiled shrimp
unable to come alive
my sixth sense of death
is stronger than the other five
I know it’s creeping up
like a pervert
inside boys dorms
waiting for me to kick off
and become useful –
food for the worms.


i woke up thought
of the dead.
closed my eyes
there was no dread

took a breath
felt the blood
roaming in me
like a reckless bard

light came in
a slender ray
touched my forehead
then it strayed

Friday, December 12, 2008

New Start

when illusions burst
you freeze. stand still.
all you remember is how to loose.
and the feel of the noose
doesn't evoke a chill.

nonexistence beckons
its colors -- transparent, none.
like an elusive Beckett
after Godot was gone.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008


pour it down my throat
burning me to the core
prance like a wild goat
to your tune of a bore

pour it. numb my brain
i have seen what's in store
splinters of wild pain
and i know the score

pour it. don't be shy.
where i come from they sing
as they lie down to die
and they don't make a thing

they just lie there like dross
frozen. silent. still
and the shape of a cross
brings on a thrill

of a minus sign
being neither here nor there
one endless line
light infused. bare.

pour it. let me melt.
disappear. dissolve
pain -- we are dealt
but not much love.