In the nicotine of your kiss,
My skull cracks
Like a woodpecker’s migraine.
You chew my passion endlessly,
And an orchid blooms in your belly,
With violet whispers.
I look for dark planets
In roots of your skin’s hairs.
Your dream steers my soul,
And navigates me into your depths.
Sands of your hips spill nervously,
And time stands still
In drunken rustling of your breasts.
I am no longer afraid of winds,
So, I hold your young waist
Even on this stormy night.
But my head spins
Like a weathercock in a tornado.
My eyes become two dogs
Guarding your honey-suckled heart.
But the only fear left is
Of the ghostly tongues under the bed,
Waiting for their turns.
From ancient blackened earth our lives emerged
Affirming eon's cycling through soil's time
But in the end all creatures had diverged.
Though ash and cinder oft contributes grime
To rising zephyr souls whose breaths are numb,
The weathercock and vane, when tossed by clime,
Expel arrays of song with cogent thrum
And sweep away gray residues to place
on this sad groaning land a laudanum.
Our tingling bodies rise and fall with grace
At measured rates and epics of no date
Hold myths instilling dramas to embrace.
Each moment burns a candlewick of fate.
Our nurture and our nature maybe blurred
Yet our atomic cells that did not wait.
From slime to flesh and blood genetics stirred.
Man's science know what brought each life to birth
But not the why existence had occurred.
Now we are stewards tending to our Earth.
This we must do with highest care and worth.
Monday:
He sharpens his dream
By the hone of the illusion,
Under his arm
He put roses
And a bit of of life's basils
Then goes to his work.
--------
Tuesday:
He says to the beloved:
Tomorrow, when the dreams tree leaves
On our stature,
And the light leapt smiling
In Our eyeballs
Humbly will come the sea
And give us its waves.
--------
Wednesday:
From the breast of the clouds he suckles
Five songs,
And by the stone
He slaughters the weathercock.
--------
Thursday:
He irrigates his memoirs
With the water of trouble,
In the evening
He expectes to be kidnapped.
--------
Friday:
When he comes to the cafe
He drinks from his cup
A quantity of eulogies
About the members of his tribe,
And when he goes out
He buries his misgivings in his pockets.
--------
Saturday:
He goes to the city bar
And behind him he pulls
The chariot of the grief,
Instills in the field of his body
Seedlings of the wine
To make himself melted.
--------
Sunday:
His feet take him
Where the nightmares of the road are,
His eyes lurk among the passers-by.
The shade of the weathercock
Points to the graveyard,
An abandoned tombstone waits
For the day immorality
Returns to the world of the purest
As they name it
They will come back with
A Vengeance
A thousand years of digging
Not the earth but the time
The home a fathom below
Now the time have come
They say
The souls are here at last
No mercy they will show
A point to be made
War is the only way
Blood the only ink
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