quinta-feira, 30 de abril de 2026

Packing the van

 He happened on the car, She was still packing it.
For her holiday.
The flight attendents in light turqoise uniforms.
Their stylish shoes making crushing sounds over the gravel parking lot.

Were they there to help.
Or just compare the skills of a great housewife.
To their own capacity to pack an area with baggage.
They came out semi smiling and professional.

These hostesses lost their flight decades ago.
Now we see them rummaging around carparks in the wider state area.
Like homeless deer, Or deer without a forest for animated cartoonish cultureless brains
Packing and unpacking people's items into cars probono.


Planting apricots

 On the land I planted apricots
In Portuguese they are called damascos
Like the city in Syria
A place where they were once traded apricots

The grassy expanses house those little shrubs
thick and water thirsty
dried grass seed heads limp and brown
fresh new shoots near the base

I pulled it out in clumps
Dug through the shallow silt
Into the deep rude clay
poured soils bark and sand

Then I poured water from a jug
I blessed the roots
Capilliaries became thick underground arms
And every year I was honored with a harvest

When you gotta go, you gotta go...

 While the trip was being planned my bladder troubled me.
I needed to pee quick and there was nowhere or nothing to pee into.
So I grabbed a construction helmet and while noone was looking I peed.
I moved the rest of my gear to the car which was open.
To my relief the poeple standing around it were water works staff.
I went back into the cafe to get my wife and the rest of the stuff.
The scene was awkward a man had put the hat on,

Urine running down his face, none of that previous pride.
I pretended not to see as I picked up the rucksack.
The yellow liquid drip dropped onto his jeans.
He was too affected by the whole thing to even move.
He got out his packet of camels and attempted to light one.
in a kind of nostalgic shit happens kind a way.
But a yellow drop the helmet put the ember out.

I think I enjoyed the experience as much as he did.
Not very much.


The stray cat jumped through the window

 The creature came in and lay on me.
At first I thought it was something wild and sinister.
Then i could feel it's form and notice it was just a housecat.
It was an abandoned animal looking for home.

Once exposed to things it didn't want to live through.
Now seeking a protector through me.
But could I do the job well.
Would I be patient?

The cat looked up from the bed and became human.
Dark hair and eyes and seeking comfort.
Seeking a sense of human warmth.
all that was left was to snuggle.

quarta-feira, 29 de abril de 2026

Trump's bioenergetics

 Donald trumps lips and face.
People say he is an extrovert,
but those lips have become tighter.
Compounding through Epstein stress.

The voicebox louder.
The charm begs tweaking.
The comb-over pheno greeked.
The glare says stay out!

The vocal cord pulses into the narcissism,
but another cord pulses into approval seeking.
He began the seductor, and ended a provoker.
The inner trump a villian unknown.

The outer trump a hero.
One checking on the other.
Nosy brothers
and personal altercations.

A man who doesn't know what he truly wants.
But tells himself he does through the indulgence.
The indulgence of food and luxury.
The indulgence in women and sex.

The inner trump lost in the ocean of deviated desires.
The outer trump all focus all machinery for calculated soundbites.
For news theater that echoes through languages and channels.
America needed an Icon and Netan-yahoo needed a puppet.


Ghosts and admirers

 She started giving those classes upstairs
All the most popular gym goers went
The grace of a choreography
While I stayed on the first floor old machinery

Learning from ghosts and admirers
So far from my reach
No way of making connection
Just glances from so far off

every exercise building oneself up
Sculpting oneself rounded
The heart beats and sweat falls
the way they all move in unison

I the observer just an admirer
Just a ghost with the weights on myself
I wish feelings would just go stale
as they seem to come and go in others

But they intensify like addrenaline
infecting the organs and the brain

hatyārā bāgh

 I see the tiger almost half a ton of killing power
It looks at me first as prey then as it's friend
We race up and down the ragged hills
Time has gone and it could devour me at any moment

I chase it and it chases me
It is so majestic just too deadly
It's very presence wakes the primal inside me
My bones and muscles scream

I want to have the strength of it
I want to move like it
I want to stalk other creatures
I want that killing power

It races up the slope and I struggle to keep pace
It's markings are an ancient alphabet
It's eyes are flames and it's claws are swords
Will it tear me apart?

Fangs into the jugular and pulsing blood out
Until I die
But I don't die, I stand 
I chuff! I Growl...

what I seek

 I was once the intruder
Now Im the owner
I seek the north facing
I seek new land

Well paved streets
new grass and a sense of welcome
A season that transitions smoothly
Trees that carry the fruit for an extra week

That's what I seek
A garage with tools
So that I may tinker
My trusty dog and nosy neighbors

You look at me and you wouldn't guess it
It's a simple existance
where the sunshines on my land
I'll put a garden there


terça-feira, 28 de abril de 2026

The electric heart

 I looked up the street
A line had fallen
Fire rocked and rolled serpentine
The pylon exploded with action and noise

The road was all damp from the storm just twenty minutes passed
Water and chaos married on the boulevard
Someone's missing
The streets are always full with seekers

Oh have I become a seeker
Wandering around under where the street light used to shine
Now only lit up by my own neon neediness
With the power out maybe hearts might bleed in peace

dreams can be drowned in what remains of the deluge
These sad eyes keep seeing the world for what it is
I who worship storms can care not if cables snap
Feed unashamedly off a different energy


Cast away again.

 He got left there again like an abandoned child.
His woman told him to get out.
He found space there in the local flat.
All alone feeling his own confusion.

Inside and out that smooth lonliness.
The kind a man binds himself to.
The kind he feels openly and drinks coffee to.
Watching the big and small hand change position.

He hears some clumsy banging below.
He puts his alarm on and drops his head onto the pillow.
Slowly slipping off to sleep but then waking again.
Eyes won't shut and a single tear drop forms.

He forces his body out of bed and shuts the window.
Wincing at the heat that will now accumulate.
He swings the curtain to draw it across the window.
closing himself then climbing back into bed.

Throwing the sheet over himself and giving up on the world.
A simple bed to fall into slumber, to pretend all is well.


The morning pressure

 i get up before the sun everyday.
It feels like pressure.
I never did get used to it.
Its not something I always did.

I struggle with the alarm.
often waking up before it.
wallowing in the unconmfortable silence.
The only noise my stomach growling.

Then the inevitable ringtone comes blaring.
I turn and flick it off.
use all of my strength to lift myself out of bed.
Throw some underwear on and walk downstairs.

I make my breakfast reluctantly.
Eggs frying,coffee brewing, a shake blending.
It hushes the stomach.
It prepares me but the morning is always too pressing.

segunda-feira, 27 de abril de 2026

Anton Lost Jessica

 Jessica why did you leave me for Rusty?
You left in the heat of an argument during a strange night.
You went seeking Rusty in his orange caravan.
Now the house is lonely and the cats are restless.

I take my milk coffee and the steam hits the window. 
Fogging it up so I can finger a love heart onto the glass.
I see the carlights on the highway at the end of the drive.
One passes every five minutes.

Each one I pretend is you coming back to our empty house here.
Jessica how could you do it, you were the most sophisticated than any other.
Now you are kicking around with some local drug dealer Rusty Mcmillan.
The outrage is really just crushing me inside.

Last night there was a hurricane off the florida coast.
It's front came through here and caved the roof in entirely
I found Lisa the cat, but the black runt is nowhere to be seen.
Like you, Jessica it disappeared into danger.


What can i teach you

 I have the white board behind me and I'm writing up on there.
I have listed so many things to guide these students.
The bald old one spoke out and said- What value is there in these words?
I looked at him and said- There is no value here on the board, you give meaning.

I took them out to the field and tried to teach them about what they need.
They put their hands throught he grass and we randomly walked through uneven land.
They wanted to know what we were supposed to achieve.
They looked at me and said that I had it all already.

How am I supposed to get mine each asked.
I pointed to the sun and said, when you need the sunshine, you need to seek it.
When you stay in it too long, you burn. 
If you leave early you don't get the vitamin D.

Position yourself, put in the time and leave before things change for the worst.
The bald one went back to my classroom and in a rage he rubbed out the words on the board.
He articulated his sense of outrage and frustration, he screamed that my anecdotes were meaningless.
He accused me of simplifying the complex by using basic parables.

What can you teach me? -He screamed.
Without faith I can teach you nothing.

Empty Katherine



She has no more expression on her face.
Can she be kind? Can she be smart of course.
We cannot see any evidence of her evolution.
She has lost her man many years ago.

She has a kid who is slowly making it through brat-hood.
Her expressionless face doesn't give anything away.
She is filled with a different kind of yearning.
One unmeasurable in a man's mind.

A silent rage still clings somewhere inside her.
I would say probably inside her spine.
Tolerate my speculation.
She hides her secrets somewhere.

Do they wear away the bone?
Probably not.
But they eat or live on emotional content.
They are anorexic worms.

So inside her there are spaces.
Spaces that will never be filled.
Not physically or spiritually.
But ghosts do hide there among those worms.


domingo, 26 de abril de 2026

Highway of emotional expectation

Notes to self when crossing the city.
getting through to myself.
Seeking connection through the walls of myself.
Each step is a word and the journey is a book.

Inner conflict and frozen dread one clings to their homes.
When a path must be made forward.
Inside our human nature is the capacity to manipulate.
we want to fool and be fooled in certain ways.

Our blood runs hot and then runs cold.
Spoiled by fulfilling all emotional needs.
Religious adherence to routine and performance.
Our convictions often based on empty platitudes.

Enjoyment coming eighty percent from anticipation.
The other twenty percent pretending the outcome matched the prediction.
By the end memories of fine foods, jewelry and sensual confessions.
Dry up on a sunny highway replete with roadkill.


Testing the limits

 He is restless, he just never stops.
Up and down. He'll sit for a minute then he has to move.
He has to cause trouble and sniff and bark.
He is not satisfied to sit and observe.

What kind of creature is this who is more anxious than a human child without its Ritalin.
He jumps up on the elderly on the park bench.
In this country all ages must pretend to like this kind of animal behaviour.
So he puts his paws on them and sniffs them.

They use their baby voices as if addressing a toddler.
He licks and licks them, a level of affection far separated from what should be appropriate.
The animal that has a million more bacteria than I have has the right to embrace anyone.
If I did the same thing I might be beaten or arrested.

So I loosen the cord and pretend to be appalled just wondering how far my dog will go.
And he goes deep. He doesn't just want to sniff the hand He wants to lick every crease of skin.
He wants to nestle into your crotch, everything I taught him not to do in private.
There he is testing everyone's limits in public.



How the path changes

 The brick path on the way to the park, absorbs every part of the year.
The kapok tree flowers accumulate over the ground covering the brick path.
The late summer rains, sun and pedestrian foot steps that squash the flowers.
Those pink and white flowers turn dark orange and brown and get squashed down.

In the humidity they expand, in the dry it all contracts and fragments make their way into dust.
The breeze and wind picking pieces of it up and send it to the corners and gutters.
Filling up the drains and forming a layer of decomposed material underneath.
Weeks later it is all gone, not even a stain remains, as of the flowers never happened.

Not their bloom, not their incredible display and not their imminent fall.
Not their turning, not their decay, not their mould, not their organic remains.
The brick pavers become clean again and the sunbleach and rain maintaining it all.
Ants nests encroach mounds of yellow brown sand emerge.

Autumn tries to hold onto the sun but the cool fronts break through.
The nest is empty, the wind blows them away, and the brick path is once again flat.
It never remains the same, it's litter, it's tone, it's stains.
Like the face of a changing person, how the path can change just like the wanderer.

Pseudo supplements

 The nature of relationships when passion dries is transactional.
The painful struggles to conciliate and rectify the give and get.
Often fighting for our piece of the cake.
Our sense of value from how we recieve.

Everyone on the world seeks something for nothing.
Using cunning, feigning vulnerability.
On their quest they forget the truth of things.
The inconvenient consequences.

Those being outward deception forces you to live in a world of excuses.
Excuses you tell the others so often and with such conviction.
That you start telling yourself those excuses.
Until you are among the group eating our of your hand.

Perhaps with an even bigger appetite than your regular fans.
The adulterated blend you've designed for the outside world,
Is now part of your own personal nutrition.
The sham components don't grow you.


Foreign desires

 Losing yourself inside your own flavor.
Your own preference and obsession.
Exhausting long days.
The world distracts you from fantasty.

You curse it under your breath.
Now you suck the milk of the fixation.
Sustaining that one untidy corner of your mind.
Practical advice makes your stomach turn.

You dive back into the limitless shadow world.
Where each monster turns you on.
Where each haunted place calms you.
Each one tailor made by your sharpened whim.

For the things you want in the real world you can't have.
So create them beyond on your screen and in your mind.
First littlle pieces of yourself that kept growing in the dark like fungi.
What do they look like now?

How do they tickle your psyche?
How long do you dare to resist them before they drag you under?
Into the depths that your pretend don't exist?
Such a foreign foreign place.

The angel's speech and the reality of the world

She saw us at the end of our purchase
She greeted us with wide smile and twinkling eyes
Her age showed yet vitality hid inside
She took our hands in hers

The awning eavesdropped
Heard every word she said to us
She spoke of the journey of life
The deadly shortcuts

She gestured with her hand 
About the circle around
About the impact of self deception
In simple words of course

I wanted to tell her If there was another existance beyond this one
I would heed it all and put it into practice
But in the meantime everything from a greeting
To building the house of my dreams...

is based on pure deceit.

sábado, 25 de abril de 2026

Jeremias the gaunt with his parents

 They are just veins, his mother and father maneuvering their steps.
They hobble through the mall and end up at a table.
Early nineties, blood barely makes it through the arteries. 
The limbs and extemities struggle across the floor.

They are loose skin and one day I will be that.
Their curiosity is seen through their shy son.
Late forties, recent divorce dark clothes and depressive brow.
He looks up from the table and his parents who are just loose veins use him to see the world now.

He picks up the keys as if he is goping somwhere but instead he walks into the cafe.
He buys a slice of coffee cake for his parents who couldn't care less about his burdens.
He takes off his black shirt to expose his black tshirt beneath. 
His pale skin reflects disdain for a world that had forgotten him a long time ago.



Black rooster

 I was pulled away in a cart.
Nearing the top of winara hill.
I found myself drifting over the grass.
Being followed by curious black rooster.

Over an ocean of grass below.
And a sky dangerously blue and cloudless.
The only moving thing beside myself and my haycart,
was this black rooster.

It kept up with the cart.
It could have easily been the seed head on the hay.
But the animal wasn't pecking
It just kept walking toward me.

Keeping up with the pace of the donkey.
It's feathers were noble.
It's dimensions were regal.
I kept my eyes on that rooster.

Did it somehow belong to me?
What power did it represent?

Recording my voice in the rain

I walked through their etiquette corridor.
breaking the knees of the wardens.
Their well kept perfect looking women.
Their respectable conforming men.

Not one of them helped me.
They didn't want my words or stories.
I needed to exit the insane asylum.
So I took the back window and jumped four meters into the heavy rain.

Alone I walked through small houses of the nearby neighborhood.
Finding myself in water up to my knees.
Angry has beens leaned out of their windows.
Throwing casette tapes at me and telling me to record the rain.

I looked down into the clear water that was slowly rising.
I could see my infancy, the first years of myself.
The rain didn't stop so I took out a tape recorder.
Threw in an unmarked casette and listened to my own voice playing back from the future. 

The becoming of a rogue

 I had to make my own way.
Never fitting in.
I argued with the way they did things.
I was told to learn their ways.

I watched as I was put last in every scenario.
I was just given scraps at every feast.
So I took my own personal license.
And became the rogue you see.

I had to fight my way out alone.
Break their rules and leave their tables.
There was no place for me there.
I made my way through the wrecks and junkyards.

Through the odd jobs and invisible neighborhoods.
My words were all I had.
Beggers can't be choosers, father said.
But I became both.

There's no such thing as a free lunch, my mother said.
But I ate without paying on countless days.

sexta-feira, 24 de abril de 2026

Slick freeways

The suave bus ride shot through the city of want.
What do you want the sign said.
The silver bus hovered off the road like dragonfly.
the pollution haze dressed the city n a see through skirt.

The city humms but never speaks.
Pedestrians stay from the highways.
Keeping all of their jealousy and bustle.
Inside the overcrowded enclaves.

The freeway feels like a sweet elegant layer of mist.
But it is only a toxic dust a few feet off the tarmac.
The energy flies over the city and the bus itself soaks it in.
Boosts along at a happy speed...

Speed and aluminium.
A new century.
A new millenium,
commuting no questions.


Tom swatted mosquitoes

 I met Tom Cruise on a bus to carwash city.
He swatted near my neck on the bus.
There were mosquitoes around me.
Of course they weren't around him.

The novelty of taking a bus for him must have been sonething.
But he didn't seem to care one way or another.
I said to him- why did you save me from those mosquitoes?
And he just looked at me as if he was reading for me some sort of film.

I said to him- I've always thought you were a great actor.
-But sometimes I've mocked you for your stature.
-What a thing to do right?
And he just kept looking at me and finally said- it's fine.

On his face he really didn't seem to care.
He was going to do a new film with Putin.
Tom would play Zelensky.

quinta-feira, 23 de abril de 2026

Maurice chef

 The big kitchen bench at the seaside.
Salty and just a slight tad humid.
Piles of vegetables on top, 
Pots on open flame.

His expression was one of unconcern.
He picks a dangling knife off a rope and starts chopping.
Again and again the at sound plop plop plop...
Where did all the food come from?

Noone was asking. 
The fish was obviously from the sea.
But the rest of the vegetables were a mystery.
In some cultures food is the only luxury.

The sound of the tide was loud outside.
The ocean speaking almost giving tips on the dish they were preparing.

Skaters of failure

 They sat glued to the t.v.
Four of the best skaters in the world.
They loved the cartoon and gave themselves nicknames.
Then they went out to field of wheat.

Ricky rode over the wheat field with his skateboard.
Flattening a line through the crop nicely.
To the applause of the other three.
No farmer to get angry.

Their cartoon like minds
Spinning out of control
For they didn't seek flat surfaces
But uneven or dense surfaces where the wheels would get stuck.

quarta-feira, 22 de abril de 2026

Unfound

 I couldn't find that thing I was looking for.
coming short after opeing every door
Many came to my aid.
To correct each mistake i made.

I just stood there clueless my temples throbbed.
Not completely knowing what i needed for the job.
In the end the list of instructions was incomplete.
I thought my time there would be fleeting.

Every cabin was overstocked with things I didn't need.
The board was written with last weeks tasks and deeds.
Everyone knew where they were, what they were doing.
I could hear that laugh, but I was too busy moving.

Again that daunting feeling of incompetence rose to sour my life.
The breakfast was laid out, I didn't have time for a slice.
As I racked my mind for the next best course of action.
All my abilities and resources made me feel a complete lack.


I found the answers and relaxed carefree while I showed the way forward.
There was no right place there was no perfection or immediate reward.



terça-feira, 21 de abril de 2026

Bannock sturdy for Christ

 Plain in the only way I am.
For they had proclaimed I- simple Simon.
For if only that were true.
I am plagued by an army of demons.
So I appeal to the big big...

I put on a strong display but I struggle to strengthen the rest of me.
I seek food in what is real, not by excess.
Steady me because I feel ridiculous.
Calm me because my mind runs wild.
Wholesome, but I am pulled sideways.
Direct me, because I am scattered.

See me fully, including the parts I judge harshly.
See my words and their roots their holy innuendos, Lord God Look here!
Take the sting out of my self-mockery, take the expectation out of me.
Turn embarrassment into humility, and humility into strength.
Give my spirit enough bread for today, enough courage, enough clarity.


This honest work,

 clean thought,

 measured action,

 loyalty, patience, creation.

Sturdy in spirit, soft in heart, clear in mind.

The currency inside

 On and off.
God puts my soul back in
Like a credit card paying.
Then withdrawls it again.

I would like to be the value.
Wherever it may go.
Blessed and whole,
On some great trajectory.

I must curate this path,
Sometimes molding the pavers myself.
Under the sun,
making my way to building something.

How many of you readers never feel your value?
You may not ever be able to measure your worth.
The worth we carry in ourselves is arbitrary.
The value others put on us, capricious.

So sometimes in the most silent of whispers.
I listen with all of my capacity,
As God says to me straight,
Believe in yourself.



Power Oversurge

 I'm building up, I'm walking forward.
I'm bringing the intangible into heart as energy.
Collaborate and flow through me.

Tickle my veins, live through me.
Follow me until I perish.
Smash through these walls.

Crack the stone of all resistance.
Part it all into fragments.
So that i can see the other side.

Lift me propel me forward.
I have my target and soul intact.
The rough nature of the world sustains me.

Reach for strength.
Reach for oxygen for I'm breathless.
These legs keep sprinting.

I heartless, I keep pumping...

City gone, affection and routine

 The city disappeared.
There is no affection in the world.
Only distrust and friends with their own personal interests.

Everything requires caring for.
The world is one fat suction cap.
The thing you want and go on wanting.

The city disappeared overnight.
Just your house, just your street that remained.
People are unpredictable easily influenced.

Now they are gone and the building flattened.
Routines exist to be followed.
Rebuild the city? Reinvent yourself?

Pets are fed and surfaces are cleaned.
There is no affection and the city is nonexistant
Your on your own.

segunda-feira, 20 de abril de 2026

That Jiggy prestige

 The pub disco has been going for fifty years.
When the uniforms were brown and yellow.
The food had no taste, the whills were wild with animals and dense forest.
I pulled the photo of the school principal from that time.
A bald headed middle aged man that matched the man standing infront of me.
Still jigging to the seventies music.
Still trying to inspire the shy teenagers, pushing them to get up and dance.

Using his stupid incentives and everything was done to get them on the dance floor.
Everyday liquid from the same spiked punch bowl.
Prom lab fix attempts at that maximum prestige.
Nothing changes and the clock resets to a sunny six pm as they all arrive.
The music didn't change, the silly vehicles toing and froing.
Nothing existed outside of the obligation to dance.
The bar in this reality is now a real estate brokers.

But in the dimension it sits in, it is the senior graduates nonstop Prom dive.

Holiday at altitude

 Afternoon in Cunha 19 of April.
Sunny picturesque cloud surrounds the far hills.
Eyes always seek somewhere else to be.
But just be here in this grass.
In this hobby rolling holiday headspace.

But there it is again a far off forest.
A house on the side of the hill.
Distracting the immediate blue.
Westerly comes in conspiring with autumn shade.
I would like to know myself after a thousand years of existence.

I see these hours and days floating away...
I see the way the sun mocks me in the sky like that.
He knows he'll stay active and potent for eons.
The westerly bites again I put my jacket on.
There's some magical place for each nostalgic notion. 

Door handle mountain Curupira

 Run down Door handle mountain.
What am I but a climber.
All the way back down Curupira style.
Backward legs gloating.
Showing off and heavy breathing growing.
Moving inward and outward.
Further down the door handle.

Mountain saved no views for me. 
So I skipped down the beast alternatively,
Door handle shaking in the knee.
As other hikers look on in horror.
Slipping curupira backwards.
What a monster inside me screaming to get out.
All backward and nasty from the mist freeze. 

Mist flowing up and down mountain round,
breeze amused inside and out of altitude trees.
I jog backward in that groove,
Rhythm, shadow, speed.
Beats the wind,
beats the looming rocks.
The root of the mountain can feel the abnromal foot falls.

Ankles and knees tighten on the concrete pavers.
Clapping smile of a mist dancing Curupira.

Newspaper boy in courtenay place

I was walking down Courtney Place 1983.
Part of me was a child on the coast.
The other part worked selling newspapers in Wellington.
Everyone was talking about David Bowie visiting.
The majestic Michael Fowler center was being finished.

Cranes were working and it looked like something would actually grow.
Uneven steps and crowding hills awkward buildings align.
Mirrors everywhere so New Zealanders could look at themselves.
But who were they anyway, lost Colonists and Maori at the foot of the world.
Some vestige of imperial greatness the got smoothed out by salt water?

It grew slowly and collapsed a few times.
In march of 83 the Royals came to visit. Bringing their children.
With space and privacy to bask in the sun on their picnics.
Muldoon was fighting to get the reigns inside the beehive.
Things were on the whole unstable, but appeared stable.

Geraldo Dining

 The first thing he does when he gets to the restaurant is go to the bathroom.
It's Geraldo people say it's his age but we know he's been doing it for years.

He doesn't sit at the table, adjust his cutlery and napkin.
He doesn't look at the menu, he just loiters in the bathrooms.

Medicines and liquids unpacked near the basin he looks up to the mirror.
He won't order his food, he won't come to the table.

He just remains in the bathroom there, anxious and unwilling to exit.



His face was the road

 Fading head of hair.
Shocked to still be alive.
Sat down to play breakfast.
Folk wisdom spat out.

Blurting everything out.
anything floating behind the eyes.
His girlfriend 20 years his junior,
remained hushed.

His clear eyes searched the external for sanity,
focused the eyes became beady.
He sat there vacuum cleaner exhausted.
Telling his life story. 

He was a car slowly running out of gas in a rough dirt road.
Abrupt and inapropriate at every bump to the wheel.


The mother ignored

 I heard her story 
Full of frustrating details
Her face said something about being ignored.

She sought kindness but also intimacy
She was to give herself to another man to recieve that energy.
Unsure of where it would take her and if it would satisfy.

For her life as it stood was work and children, both she loved.
And her life was full of love, good enough for gratitude.
But without affection life has no reward.

The weekly slog was dread married on paper but a functioning widow.
She didn't look for a way out or let herself fall.
All she could do was force herself to focus on the shame.

The way you talk to God

 Some brag they talk with God through precious sculpture.
Through marvellous interpretation of scripture.
Through personal convcition of divine right.

But it's just a routine well practiced by some.
Their alterior motives sooner or later present themselves.
Some talk to God and noone else and get passed over by the lot.
For their advice is hard to hear.

The hardest thing to do on this earth made for war, is to forgive.
Forgive another human being for something they probably did out of fear.
Noticing your own fear, your own limitations simultaneously.
Moving forward a little by letting those energies walk away.
God will still be all ears to your words.

Basca Pie

 Give me a sour cheesecake with extra burst.
With incendiary impact on the tongue.
Ammunition for the day.
Something the fork can't leave alone.
A fork that needs to scramble and scratch.

The creaminess and sweetness bittering the coffee beyond it's typical bite.
Pump the Basca sideways with cappucino ambush.
A sip and a mouthful until both plate and mug are completely lacking.
The mouth and stomach still lacking.

Cheese found

 I marched in like I owned the place, seek arrogance, listen to the sound of the door opne and shut.
Everything that awaited was aromatic and homemade.
Some of it so over priced I felt myself turning into a real life donkey.
Hats and boots, fruits and honey.
Finally I found cheese and walked out a happy bee.
My next week of dairy fix all supplied.
The oncoming tourists trying to see the items stacked inside my sack.

No Parking

 W were trying to imagine a place to park on the narrow street.
We couldn't do it.
The street was made up of rectangle pavers, making up the downtown of sweet Cunha.
We eventually found a park up the hill.
With a view of the deep backside of the village.

I declared. "I need to build."
"I need to live."
So we made our way down three pm. Well rested.
The angle of April, shadow gleeful and lit up.
Spring in our step, Autumn joined.
Waking to coffee fumes and baked pine nuts.

sábado, 18 de abril de 2026

From Rage and Hostility

 Mother hostility where may I find peace.
Father Rage is this world truly mine.

Mother hostility.
Have I no utility?
Father Rage.
Must I just fill the page?

Emotion distilling my image.
So i take my pen unwillingly.
I write for love, not for promise of wage.
I conjure creativity.

Savage vocabulary makes me mage.
Brain that devours demons my veiled abilities.
The skull it's human cage.


Dutra departure

 Running down from the bus station.
I wasn't going with her anymore.
Those sunday sunsets wouldn't be watched together.
She had to do it alone, make her way there and back.

Sitting in the polished plastic with her backpack .
looking down at her cellphone.
In that constant transit of all places.
Waiting to get on, waiting to get off.

I wasn't there, and trip was made by her alone.
I wouldn't accompany her and instead spend this time apart.
The big block of a bus station with a seat just for her.
Clock hands callus, morning hours develop rash.

She's getting ready to leave.
She's waiting in the line with her ticket out.
She's anticipating the way back.
To her childhood home.

Then she's gone back to the old smoke.
Rolling through the valley,
lost in her thoughts.
Away from me her husband.

Every hour of this precious hour of this life,
intangible uncatchable.
I am unable to convey this love.
Caught in the chaotic vortex of my own mind.

Caught in those transit points of thought.
Those big waiting lounges in my head.
I am separated just watching time pour out.
She is miles away.

The road bellows from Dutra highway.
Telling me it's time.
speaking with a mouth full of cars and buses,
with the anger of berms on fire.

shouting- You fool! Follow her.

No spot for me

 They were clean and found their class
I was dirty and couldn't get the stains out
Flatting was a nightmare
School was disorganized

Every minute of the day was a competition
they all pretended it wasn't covering it up
with sincere sounding -I wish you well's
Organizing their clique and consensus

The walls went up and we would learn
In big halls where our inequities would come to the surface
We would pretend they didn't reflect out identities
But the campus chatter imposed it all into us

And their lines and queues went nowhere
Their accolades addicted those with the wit
Deep need for academic validation
There was no spot for me

Tenement upbringing

 This house is spread
Life times have passed
A child slowly gets transformed by a thousand days
Each room a presence of shade

Sleep was the only goal
The furniture was old
There was filth on the carpet
Wallpaper was shed like snake skin

The bulbs reflected colors they shouldn't
Nothing was settled there were no boundaries
The physical structure was just an invitation to mould
The only thing holding it together was a little love



sexta-feira, 17 de abril de 2026

Your smile is on fire

 Log caught fire
Slim tiny shards of bark
Spark and then crackle liberating flame
Lips extend corners rise 

The flame is starting to consolidate
darkish evidence of carbonized wood underneath
before the teeth became exposed a similar darkness
Joy is hot and needs to be felt

The red ember starts chomping into the wood
The full smile burning into the witness
attraction is warm and inviting
smokey and well stoked

A warm smile and a hearth

 We prepared the food
And kept the fires going
friends used past affections like ovens
I used my own past love for a bonfire

Reigniting it in a declaration
Stoking my heart as if it were the hearth
The fire grew and grew
Yet the smoke dissipated

I wanted to see a smile as warm as those flames
I wanted to prepare food that would offer nutrition to the soul
The red coals and the white ones cooked the meat and dishes
She turned to me and gave me that smile

A smile that echoed fertility
that renewed faith
that smoothed me out
That said thank you without saying thank you.

quinta-feira, 16 de abril de 2026

The language of the damp tree

 The stains of dampness shadow mark the treebark.
It writes a language across the roughness not decipherable.
Describing how the slow growth of things can claim effortlessly.
Into long cracked lines of bark, the infiltration has written.

It writes of the nature of the earth and all creatures in their movement.
Of long times in the glory of excess
and long times in the throes of desperate lack.
Of the cumulatory effect of a million days.

Each one embedded somewhere into the tree bark,
like a decent flick of ink.
To become a book written in dampness, moss and lichen.
A silent onomatopeia etched into the trunk.

Appearing and disappearing like timid seasons.
A manifestation of mystical magic.

A waning affection.


Blue and bolted

 The blue door,
wrestling yourself into reality.
It's locked bolted from the noble street.
A street that doesn't want to know.

I cannot see your face.
The door is all I see.
Facing the road.
Keeping it's contents hidden.

The street indifferent.
concerning itself with pedestrians and traffic.

quarta-feira, 15 de abril de 2026

Anwen

 She's a tower One I need to climb. But short and long hair. Wrap unstill. Proclaiming herself in the way she angles hips.

Outcompeting the other girls.
Pushing them back to the starting lines.
Sprinting up into the fire of the energy we seek!
You might see a spark.
Might want more than just a warmup.

See me smooth as carpet wrapping around your brick.
See me steel through you, hardened tragic surgery.
The infrastructure of love.
Pull on the heart strings.
Silent seduction. flirt yourself into me magnifying appeal.

She's a tower
A strong repunzel
Hair smooth out of the window sill.
Outcompeting the girls bamboozling the boys.
Will you be my confusion, hello, good bye...
Forget about me.

But she's so smooth like the carpet want's to play.
But she made a rooftop with the things she says.
A little unsure a bit potential pain.
Those others closed up at the last minutes
Open and visceral I cast my own spell.

Divided divinely by those hot angles on your hips.
I aim myself toward and become a new man.
A puppet rising after cutting his own lines.
Using them to the scale the oversized bricks of your tower.
So that I might carry you off before the pretenders arrive.



Anwen is someone who doesn’t demand attention but draws it anyway. She moves calmly, speaks with care, and seems to notice things others miss.

Extraction

 

 

Metals were pushed into the gum.
The tooth was half broken fully numb.
The pliers came out and rushed it from every angle.
Metallic pain drifted down the root vein tangle.

It wedged, it bled i feared for my health.
Bending like broken steel in my mouth.
It stung with hot agony that confused the senses.
My shoulders stiff, lungs breathless, legs tense.

With sharp stabs that hit deep into the bone of the jaw.
I broke down in the operatory chair, bleeding and raw!
Such a mess was I as i spat into the sink.
Saliva and wash red and diluted pink.

Just blood and tears and exhaustion,
Just a shivering, sniveling, needy human.

The hobbyist and the drillbit

 On that road the hobbyist used a screw driver to pull the circular drillbit from the tarmac.
He held it up and marvelled at it, the teeth in it, how the steel shimmered in the neverlight.
He spoke about how he would add it to his personal collection.
The grey dull road was deaf to his words and just lay there soaking up tame neverlight.

Somewhere not far a brook inhabited a ditch.
Like a child does a playground.
For all of it's insistance it couldn't reach the roadside.
The overgrown couchgrass waved to the tarmac where the hobbyist stood bewildered with the drillbit.

The tarmac was blind, the hobbyist was stuck in time, neither here in this reality, nor in the other.
Only partially aware of the tides of air coming in from the pastures and forests.
He threw the drillbit in the air, the way a child might a ball.
The thing spun as if on command, a disco ball of mesmerizining cutting power.

A thousand truck carcasses littered the end of the road.
Somehow how more useful now as rotten metal soaking in the neverlight.
Ever in prayer facing the hobbyist looking for approval, dead inside.
A realm beyond a realm, a blessing misunderstood.


terça-feira, 14 de abril de 2026

I had to leave my country

 I was born in a garage.
 far over the hill,
 where small streams
 and tree ferns bunched and danced together in the slow breeze

  I made my way over that hill,
down toward the small city,
where I was to live.
There I was reborn into mundane village life.

 With wood and tools and saws,
 hammers and boredom and nails and concrete.
 I walked out of the garage and into a car.
 I painted the car many colors.

 Then became part of the car.
 I opened the car door.
 I walked freely on the footpath,
 where people could see me/

 Where people could analyze me.
 Where people could see the clothes I was wearing,
 the words that I was speaking,
 the gestures that I was making.

 The body language that I couldn't hide.
They judged me and they said all that they could say about who I was.
 
Then I walked into a school,
 and I found myself learning.
Then I walked out of the school and into a job,
 and I found myself working.

Then I walked into a relationship and found myself fucking.
Then I walked out of a relationship and found myself alone.
Then I sought more and more and more and more,
Until I had to leave my country...


The abandoned feasts

We needed the communist to get in
We grabbed Alex he looked communist
go to the front of the line
we need to eat

But the drama queen pushed in
everything went horribly wrong
We lost the privileges we were about to have
As the drama queen could only convince

He didn't look the part and noone bought his appearance
People need their appearances
And so our cards didn't work at the booth
and we had to barter for our food

Turkey invaded the caucases again
As Russia began to implode
They were always ambitious
hyper optimistic

As we traveled down the black sea into their territory
we saw the abandoned feasts locals had left out for the liberators
We too would have stopped and eaten
but God had given the land ample rain as if rewarding the Turks

And so the food was going bad quickly
So we went back to debating who among us looked like a real communist
and if that would really have made a difference in the food line
I myself had stolen the menu, dreaming is better than nothing


Where was the small me

 The big me went in search of the small me,
over those rolling hills and strange valleys.
Until the big me recognized itself in the smallest insect.
Picked it up and carried it home.

The insect was hyperactive,
so restless it wouldn't be still.
The big me tried it's best to make the insect calm.
They slowly began to bond and exchange noises,

Which turned to personal words,
which formed conversations.
Then they were able to become something,
lost out there in the rolling hills together.

segunda-feira, 13 de abril de 2026

Sunset sorcery

 What am I to do with a world like this?
What are these new powers I never asked for?
I see the forbidden vein the blavatsky myths.
I see the sunset, alas where is the dawn?

Those in darkness strive toward remnants of light.
I'd tell you to go back, because it just burns!
I am wrapped in the sky of the eternal sunset
The gates of day's end

The dark sun and it's shrill haunting rays
It's radiation pouring through me
Until I affect it's flow
What vessel am I?



Red belt the one below white

 Nineteen ninety eight.

Crimson floor, new age of despair.

Curtains long red too with white inner sleeves.

It all spelled sorcery.


For it echoed coincidently.

The exact tones of the oncoming sunset.

As we punched the air,

pretended we could tell the future.


And I ... Simon Bernard Elliott.

Just day dreamed.

Until a fist put me down.

AND I BLED FUCKING CRIMSON.


On the crimson floor.

up the crimson curtains.

The seriousness peeling off like a face mask.

At first the muffled howling of laughter.


Then it died down to the few women's attempts at pity.

Carrying me off to wash the blood off me.

Day dream over, now life's full of Simon you need to be more careful.

But it wasn't over, the images just kept coming.


From the strange sunset folding the horizon.

Violence is just another guaranteed piece of this reality.

Must i ready my fists and my defence?

Or will I be bleeding like a punk over some basin?




Ask

 Without curiosity you curl up and die in the state or place you failed to ask was safe.
The answers are dressed and packaged on the shelf where noone's looking.
Without a why how are you going to understand the next layer?
Or didn't you think it went that deep?

Glad to know you never had questions about anything I could respond to.
What an interaction when all we need is friviolity, all we need is silent nods.
Life is effort and we are going to sweat!
Don't dare ask, or break your personal rule as the spins it's friction giddy.

What a time to engage in wanting to know.
So what? So I can form an opinion.
I'll just ask you, when?
When i get the courage.


Catalina de Erauso and the shark

She was the spanish pirate
I see it in her movement
Across the sea
pulling the treasure

surviving the waves
cutlass at her side
SHE IS THE LINSTOCK
THE LINSTOCK

seeing glass out onto the enormous blue
Sharks like me circling
Unapologetic king of the deep
I peak from the surface

See her scaling the ratlines and shrouds
So she can get a better view of the oncoming vessels
Her smile lights up the sea
All the way up in the crows nest

The dutch vessel continues through
The portuguese reduces speed
I the forsaken predator conjure the sperm whale
To break the hull of that caravela

Protecting my little spanish freebooting corsair
And giving my brothers a bountiful lunch
As i follow her brigantine
You can only see my fin




Ella era la pirata española
Lo veo en su movimiento
A través del mar
Arrastrando el tesoro

Sobreviviendo a las olas
Alfanje a su lado
ELLA ES EL BOTAFUEGO
EL BOTAFUEGO

Catalejo hacia el inmenso azul
Tiburones como yo, circulando
Rey del abismo sin disculpas
Asomo desde la superficie

La veo trepando por las jarcias y los obenques
Para tener una mejor vista de las naves que se acercan
Su sonrisa ilumina el mar
Allá arriba en el nido de cuervo

El navío holandés continúa su rumbo
El portugués reduce la velocidad
Yo, el depredador abandonado, conjuro al cachalote
Para romper el casco de esa carabela

Protegiendo a mi pequeña corsaria española
Y dando a mis hermanos un abundante festín
Mientras sigo su bergantín
Solo puedes ver mi aleta




domingo, 12 de abril de 2026

Fleeting, consumed

 I am a stick in the sun
A log in the fire
I am just a satelite
Objects close in

I enter the illumination
of the supermarkets ceiling
pouring down on me
people don't give space

Their bodies press up against
They extort attention
by raising voices
making physical contact

The shelves and displays
neon hypbnotism
I am a wallet
A purchase a product and a receipt


sábado, 11 de abril de 2026

Vitrine's finer liquids

 The man reached out and brushed the mannequin with his hungry fingers, obsession was holding his arm up, drool spilling generously down to the unswept floor failing to find a clean surface to land on.

He pushed his eyelids open to continue ogling the mannequin, using the reinforcments of his brow and forehead. sighing with deep affection as his sweat stained fingers touched the plastic arm of her.

He shifted his position on the stool accusing himself in his own head of letting his senses betray him into an intoxicating limerence at frequency so erotic in his mind's radio, he was running out of underwear.

The mannequin stayed exactly still, showed no signs of arousal and the surface of her remained hard and dry. All things the logical mind would say, should put a man off. Not so.

So again the man reached out his damp warm fingers searching for something outside of the aberration he was accustomed to seeing each morning in the mirror before suiting up to work the vitrine's of that old department store on brompton road.


In the quiet of my toothache

 sliding down my saliva flood night

Toothache renders me useless

Howling into the dawn a lame animal

The cyclic pains of life coming to stay the weekend


the pillow pushes on the nerve and wakes me

the pain wrecks me, I roll and I fade

I give into the pain and it intensifies

sliding down my jaw


sliding down the last jarring emotion of dream

setting discomfort over my face

I must just bear it silence

I must just imitate the quiet

I fission

 Separate my life,
cut through it NOW I am two.
Dreams from reality from sight,
the division bleeding.
The blood is shimmering.

Which are my clothes?
Is my body reality?
Do I wear my dreams?
Am I illusive? Am i fallacy?
Chase these words.

Separate my muscle apart,
from my heavy bones
My brain from my heavy heart.
See me in these pure contradictions.
Trying to thread it all together I the blind tailor!

Is reality my body?
Am I dressed in my dreams?
One falls off the other I am naked?
I am ignored until the shimmering division of me,
engulfs the world in a searing broad growling fission?

Secrets of this verse tattoed on the flames

Regrets and hurt unglue from this life game

Clay faced and confused

 clay faced
my nose slipped off
soft as thought soft as despair
thumb-marked, unfinished

No one stopped me
but I felt the air
touch somewhere
and eyes searching

A man offered me distance
for eighty-five thousand
said I could leave a part of myself
in every country

Outside, dogs moved in packs,
rib-thin,
welcoming me in
 knowing kindness

Inside, the pool held the afternoon
like a spread umbrella, sapphire dream
everyone dissolving into their vices
into their desires agendas and want

I stood there
half-shaped by the pain
half-seen by the world
deciding what to keep to keep of me


clay face

 clay face in the mirror
I lose myself in fragments

My face is clay and comes apart
I take each part off

My face is disfigured
I am no longer myself

The shape of me is different
Narrow and wrapped in tissue

I pull pieces of me off
This should be agony

Tis just confusion
No longer recognizable

Do that ass kiss

 They met and talked of their health

I say away just listening

They just began singing

with some kind of hip hop swagger


they sang- just got to say them words

just gotta do that deep ass kiss!

Everyday they adjust and fit

each little victory is a little gift


If you want that sort of thing

-Just bend and twist

-prepared to get down and

-do that deep ass kiss


And that is how they sang

dip down count and tell sweet lies

deep down noone wants to lose their pride

Their smiles and swagger swing 


-The action that follows those words that fit

you better do that deep ass kiss

illusions shed then you are left

with what remains

sexta-feira, 10 de abril de 2026

The colors of you

 The yellow of you is a beach the color of food
Windblown sand rippling like waves
temporary and moving like your mood

The brown of you is the land fertile and rich
waiting to be tilled, waiting for roots
To be planted with something that bears fruit

The pink of you is river clay
Where water tries to breach but instead it sways
Thick with sustanance the color of giving


Beyond this essence

Is your sacred boundary

the perfect meeting space


They ride so

 They dont walk they ride

The air lifts them sensually

The sun licks them and lights smile

The leg bends now watch the release


They don't walk they ride

Limbs dragons breathing fire out of the trouser leg

Lifting them off the ground wow

Check out the wings and talons oh I'm smitten


They never actually land

It's like a good pound of pure fantasy has been snorted

the things just keep flying

almost bouncing but I got a case of that fierce enchantment


A nerve and a broken tooth

Pain taints reality
compounding searing nailing
it's exhausting and heavy
it's vibrating through the nerve

The sharpness of the agony
pinpointed into one spot
pulsating ugly reverberating and throbbing
Relief is just a fantasy

A dream my mind sells me as I wrythe
And it continues like a raw flame inside the gum of my mouth
I scream and there's no relief
Just the next wave of torment


quinta-feira, 9 de abril de 2026

Chewing on the track

 The feeling that my brain chews the rhythm of the song
The one I used to choose the one that made me long
It still plays in my mind as if yesterday was now
The song covers me like my head in a cloud

The words massage an emotion
Forming gum you chew, teeth in motion
The song gets stuck on your mind so it replays
You remember the chorus but the rest is on delay

Mind chewing over those beats and melodies
You tap out the cadence to feel it agree
Then remember that moment with your car stereo
headphones, disco, old LP playing eerily slow



A sensação de que meu cérebro mastiga o ritmo da canção
Aquela que eu costumava escolher, a que despertava algo
Ainda toca na minha mente como se ontem fosse agora
A canção me envolve como uma cabeça na névoa afora

As palavras massageiam uma emoção
Formando goma que se mastiga, dentes em ação
A música gruda na mente e então se repete
Você lembra o refrão, o resto se esquece

A mente mastiga batidas e melodias
Você marca o compasso, buscando harmonias
Então lembra daquele momento no som do carro
Fones, discoteca, um LP antigo, lento e bizarro



Waiting through the last hours of the night

 I waited up at the hotel that night
Actually I tried to get some shut eye
But they wouldn't shut
So I watched the hours pass

at one am I thought about cars
passing one another on a busy highway
At two I looked at the ceiling
symmetrical concrete beams

At three am I was all of a sudden aware
That I sought to distract myself from the lonliness
At four you arrived and i still hadn't slept
You were full of the energy of a busy nightclub

Your aura and your voice electrifying
I felt like a tired frustrated moribund
we barely slept the sun was already entering
hotel visitors could see into our room

The symmetrical concrete beams
And busy highways
clouding my mind
each time I attempted to close my eyes

quarta-feira, 8 de abril de 2026

Redirecting me

 She stopped me three meters from the train.
Saved my life as almost I ran straight.
By God I am alive and will go on living.
My story continues i go on giving.

Those hundreds of thousands of tonnes.
Would have ran through me, i'd be done.
Every meter shouting abrasive truths 
Where's your will to continue?

I screamed back at the grinding railway tracks
It's here, i am grateful, I want to show eternal thanks
It shouted loudly- don't you want to have your life?
Don't you want to live despite your petty gripes?

I said yes i do, yes I will, the longer I live the more I will appreciate!
And the woman on the crossing warned me of the oncoming train.
She saved my life, I'm still here, the rescue not invain.
Demons still on the periphery, God in the middle.


Wanting is a weakness

 Wanting is weakness
Desire keeps you in chains

Destruction and creation transform you

Wanting is feeble
Desire is loss

Destruction and creation rebirth you

Hunger is the state
creativity is the state

Dance inside this reality and feel alive


terça-feira, 7 de abril de 2026

The blade you taunt me with

 Walk in with that blade expecting me to be tame
Sharp edge taunting me -repeating my name
I was the man or atleast told to pretend to be him
Inside I was afraid like a child in a cage
All I felt was my father's rage

My mother's avoidance
I guess you are here to end my life
With that narrow sharp sinister knife
I'll bleed out, but my eyes will follow you, my new host
You will carry around more than just my ghost

Wherever I wander You will feel unease
I'll reclaim these minutes of pain
Like a life long disease
So spare me not
I love your certainty

I live so that I may not rob you of the desire to kill me
Which has become your secret shameful vice
That envious little rage fest burns slow and nice

The red head of my infancy

 Kimberly with that red hair and palest skin.
My front teeth numb.
I'll just search for the shade.
It's even in my finger tips.

Now there we are, in that hush.
Under soft foliage of red flowering vine.
We were carefully placed by our parents to look like soft toys.
To impress the guests no doubt.

We did our best to communicate back then.
I didn't sense the same hostility in her.
I was still learning to speak.
So when we interacted and by mistake understood.

When our utterances aligned.
We giggled and cooed in surprise.
Somehow connection happened.
And it felt like a miracle.

She was uprooted and I never saw those curious eyes again.
That strange curly orange hair.
Parents and their playdates.
Maybe someone lost their job.

The parents' friendship lost it's strategic edge perhaps.
Now every red headed woman feels like a sister.
glowing out like that late morning...


Thoughts find ways through the body

 The unconscious mind curls around 
with a thousand distracting thoughts that carry the day nowhere
It drives around all through out the brain all day
Through the lines and nerves and bulges of the cerebrum

Finding their way to the eyes and and the sensory systems
Provoking self chatter and traveling down the throat
Rattling around the lungs
Spiraling down to the heart as well

Finding it's way into each compartment
Bubbling through the blood and pressure
Then down to the stomach
Talking with every department of digestion

Mingling with the food still waiting to be broken down

Eat fish at easter

 On the day every house in the neighborhood,
preparing their feast of fish.
The fishy smell and aroma comes through,
it comes through the sewers and out the gutters.

It comes out the windows and down the corridors.
In the drafts of wind it becoems overpowering.
Then the moisture of the rain fuses it.
It explodes into an intensity that overpowers the nose.

Making you dry reach with the smell of fish.
The smell percolates through your nostrils.
To the back of your throat and nose.
To the entry point of the brain.

It fishes your brain up.
Until your eyes feel like fish.
The mucus in your nose is running like fish.
The saliva in your mouth is an ocean of fish.

Until your whole self.
Is one school of fat stinking fish.

The pain will pass

 I see you need help there.
I can help you. I feel you are having a hard time.
Let me see what I can do to help you.
Did you have a rough day, was it difficult?

Let me help you stand you seem to be on the ground.
You look hurt, I have bandages for your wounds.
You look thirsty let me give you the water that will nourish.
The world has worn you out, take my hand.

I'll look after you and give you shelter.
I can see you need it. I understand you.
I also understand how cold the world can be.
If you cry, I may cry with you because pain is loud.

I've spent so long trying and failing to keep it silent.
So don't be ashamed, embrace me just to feel someone else.
I have been in your place hundreds of times.
The sense of lonliness and indifference is overwhelming.

I'll hold your hand, then you can leave and feel better.


Draumr Dagrenning

 You exchange in those hours before waking
Reaching out through the illusions the slide and stretch
So you don't see who I truly am in darkness we have no shadows
Minutes flow out our time is dwindling as dawn approaches

The dream deepens the exchange intensifies
Little piece of ourselves we trade in the darkness
Little slices of this false avatar that I am
Taken in by the false version of what you are

Why is my touch different?
Why would my love be different?
In the dark it could be anyone
The formless breeds fascination

The flow of this dream overwhelms
You wake empty
Morning gloom's dessperate hands
I am gone, not just for now...

I am gone forever, this dream will never revisit you.

segunda-feira, 6 de abril de 2026

Spills and Stains

 The sofa will eventually recieve the stain
The milkshake will spill
There is new fabric its begging
It's a satisfying energy
Like my smile

I lengthened it like a summer day
To feel good about the things I have
The things I don't
And the things that will eventually be mine

The plate is warm and the food ready
sitting at the table I left the salt and pepper
The juice fell over spilled out
It was waiting for that to happen

You are a handful and a mouthful
The one day that you forget the apron
The sauce splashes and it's in there
 unwashable The perfect imperfection

You can clean but it will always be marked
Like an early trauma on the soul of today
That piece of uneaten food on your plate
That will prevent your dessert


The shade of the gas station

 The cypresses touch the petrol station roof.
Using it for support and darkening that corner where no cars park.

Routine is juice, gas, gasoline.

The commuter pulls in with his new flash car, cellphone to ear.
Hand a few hertz from shaking on the steering wheel.

His tyre hits the reservoir lid as if he was blind.
His window comes down in a rush to call an attendent.

The pavement is a finished task like a schedule filled out.

The attendent lazily makes his way from the shade of the cypresses
Toward the neurotic man who is probably late for a life and death stakes situation

The road is full of potholes and cracks like the man's nerves.

-What can i get for you?
-Gasoline and quick, I'm late for a meeting.

The early morning cloud accumulates it threatens to rain
Not on the attendant, but on the rushing man.

-Cash or card?
-Card, quickly!!!

The transaction happens quickly the man pushing the card machine away.
Starting engine, revving and speeding out of the gas station.

The old man walking his dog on the street nodded to the attendant.
-You are a patient one, good on you.

But even so, the attendent lowered his head and made his way back to the plastic seat,
In the shade of cypresses.

He watched his shoes step as he hung his head, heard the rev of the crazy man.
His next step encountered the line of shade on the petrol station forecourt.

He heard a screech and then a deafening crash.
He looked around but all he could see was the old man with his little dog.

-Never be in such a rush that it takes living life away from you.
 The old man said.
The young attendant looked down at his shoes. 

In the young man's mind all he could think about was the fact he needed a new pair of shoes.
And a car like that of the rude man who had just passed through.
He was probably somewhere important by now. While the young man was stuck pumping gas.
These thoughts filled the young man with dismay. Even as the abrupt sound of the ambulance came screeching out of nowhere.


What awaits

The house needs building
Petrol stations await cars to fill
streets shoes and trainers
My ears your voice

The beach awaits the tide
the weight awaits my hand
The sun awaits my skin
The universe my words

my eyes, you
My skin, yours

domingo, 5 de abril de 2026

I was up against a gray silence

 So I breathed out,
the clouds were pushed.
Am I sincere?
Streets need paint-

I sneeze and color rouses itself.
Every surface now has something vibrant.
I look down at me god he's goofing off.
I said pay attention it's all gray out here.

But my dog stayed all quiet.
The road was carved out dinosaur bones.
I did my best to flatten them out with my mood.
And if I had had a cigarette right there and then.

 That would be the moment to spark it and breathe out,
creating some cloud for the oncoming front.
Silence echoed all over like a flood of ear glue.
So I conjured thunder to clear it all up.



Human drops

 There they go human beings leaking out away from the horizon.
Practicing their lives.
rehearsing future victories.

They go attempting to hold the road.
As traffic keeps pace.
Sun so timid to rise.
But shows it's first signs.

The flow of people wishing for something bigger.
Bigger than themselves in that proud impossibility.
Eyes judge and voices accuse.

Legs brace as feet hit the pavement.
thye move like drops of water down a glass window.
With the sun shining in, training to be something.

Dissimilitude of my creative epitome

 I am clothed
yet I feel undressed
I have so many choices
But I feel powerless

I have acquired stamina in my hustle
however I am exhausted
I have grown new muscle
Though I feel weak

When will it be my time
The the crust of glory becomes something I myself devour
my patience is tested
Because I cannot wait for this hour

I am pure creativity
But my mind is blank
My libido pulses with sensitivity
But I feel impotent

What is this cruel trickery devised from where the unseen stare
Stirring reality and adulterating it's incgredients with waking nightmares
Past rising to consume me and once again I smash it all into tiny shards
Thus becoming whole, visionary, passionate and hard!


The supply room at school

 School was talking fantasy film
Abandoned class room now for stock
Young girls with cute lisps
carried away with details

curly headed consciencious nerd
Who indulged the lisped young girl
Organizing material for the next exhibition
Then embracing in the empty corridor 

School was creating or building an image
then throwing it away
as if it were never you
As if you were above it

School was long winded opinions on cult classics
as cut into acres of paper
sit by and study the periodic table
Big empty rooms

Handfuls of empathy
Constant change silly confessions
That sent the struggling teen soul nosediving
speculating on teacher's past times

prospecting toward the forbidden
with wiggle room to deny everything later
To offer excuses by feigning naivety
weaving those very first webs of deception

Pet winning kilograms

 He spent his life eating,
becoming round and docile.
Non resistant,
giving his jolly self to the moment.

He spent his life playing.
The constant infant.
Somehow unreasonable.
Yet deep down so shapeable.

How much of us are just impulse,
nojo nojo instinct.
What are we but messes,
that need consistant cleaning.

Rigorous maintenance

sábado, 4 de abril de 2026

Temple ruins and legacy

 That was our last vestige
That was the temple of the bloodline
Built so tall with noble wood
strong stable supports
Complex catacombs beneath

Passages all through it
Remains of the living areas covered in mould
Deep rot and layer upon layer of dust
Rebuilding all this will take decades

The tower where your cross sat is busted by storms
I must reset it and have it reinforced
Push these wayward people obsessed with their small games
Into rebuilding you whole

sexta-feira, 3 de abril de 2026

Gratitude to death

 Death occupies itself inside a pigeon's body
Doing it's work dutifully inside and out
feathers ruffled and a missing eye
just an opening with a grey and pink nothing

Claw haphazard like a spasmodic goodbye
Ants make a line find their way to the cadaver
Beak slightly ajar as if finishing the last breath
Or nibbling the last morsel

It flew it's last peaceful flight
suffered the hardness
Enjoyed it's ease
It blesses the mud with it's corpse

Position of final forfeit
Elements and bacteria
Until all evidence of the creature has gone
The angle of the neck is thank you


Unicorns and flightless birds

 Warriors grandiose.
Come along the ridge here on horse back.
Oh so majestic and spiritual.
Where is your metaphor, where is your sacred spear.

And the rotten colonizer.
Oh what will you do with him?
The horrid brutal landbreaker!
Has he not humiliated the honor?

You remain on horseback the longer taiaha by your side.
Will you not smite me for past slights of my restless predecessors?
Hungry to subjugate your chaos into order.
With a bland English stroke.

Can you live in honour just with words and politics.
Must you not reclaim what is yours with the original violence.
Of such to carve out your appropriates of dominion.
Am I the eternal white Devil that should be huned for sport?

Or did you just run out of Moa.

Escaping the giant duck

 The neck extended under water.
Everyone thought it was a plesiosaur.
But it was a duck whose neck extended.
Exended twenty meters and it's body grew greatly.

Then it rose from those eel infested waters.
It clmabered over small islands with only one objective.
To eat us whole of course, so we in turn found refuge.
Little subterranean shelters and corridors.

But we knew one day it's beak would break through,
Thus some of us would be gone forever.
The duck looks so adorable from outside of our hiding shelters.
But when it engages it is worse than any existing land monster.

The question is, what made it grow so fast.
What made it so incredible aggressive.
And how do we survive in a world with a giant duck hunting us.

No it's not a goose, yes it's neck is long.
It bites us and eats us.

The ruins of wellington

I looked out from wadestown

Not a tree just fields over what used to be hills

flattened by the weeks of earthquakes a year ago

the debris of the building swept into the massive opening in the earth


I looked out from the ruins of an old hotel there

The ocean flatter than i've ever seen in it

Wellington typically and aggressively windy

What a wondrous city it once was


Now it is flattened

humbled and no longer something to behold

it is just pasture once again

inviting back agriculture and old traditions


Auckland grows in it's place

A humid monster sucking water from two coasts

accomodating the urban refugees 

who refused to settle in the ruins of wellington.

Renovating the abyss

 Forgive the abomination
look what i have become
A tidal wave of energy in an abyss
Endless blackness

Somewhere at the edge of all this
Drips drop down
Soaking the edges of the world I am creating
How will I shape the rock

Far from the external
curate light for life
redirect the water- my tears and my mouth watering...
something comes from nothing

That is his language
That is my language
The dominion over creation
Patience to watch things grow

I just need to calm this tidal wave
This abomination that breaks everything again
from within
Just so I can consolidate the good works

Converting this abyss to the paradise
Born of my own bold dreams


quinta-feira, 2 de abril de 2026

Mother am I the goshawk?

 Maybe what you need is to breathe in the lonliness.
The sense your are going to have to give up every human that loves or cares about you.
Mother sings to me as a baby.
The whine in her voice.

I can you offer you nothing.
And what have I misunderstood from this life?

The Earth and the true God give me unlimited power.
Why have i been cursed by wanting?

Instead of any empathy I get suspicious eyes.

So what they say is...
maybe what you need is to taste lonliness. 
Even your wife has evolved much past your stagnant tepid pond.
Get to the notion that you need to give up everyone you love.

Leave and maybe you won't humiliate yourself quite so intensely.
Leave soo because pretty soon there'll be nothing left of you.
As you wish and hope reality was somewhat different.
Hasn't the good old spirit given you enough?

Why do you keep complaining?
why do you need so much?
What a spoilt child you seem to be!
Then I hear the words of my mother.

She sings about the solitude of the Goshawk.
How it flies so nobly, it doesn't ask for anything.
Should I be like that Mother?
Mother can I be the solitary predator?
Am I heartless or was it merely destroyed because I couldn't see the value in feeling any fucking thing anymore.


Black dragons rata tat tat tat!

 Black dragons
Lines and flagons

they don't talk 
They pose staunch finesse
they are all about the business

Look at these zips everywhere
trendy leather lack or excess of hair

Rehearsed macho walk oh kowtow tow tow
How yall fuse collectively somehow

exclusive and brazen badge on breast
motorcycle enthusiast

They kick it outside the local burger joint
Abusing the locals, shells and coins

Some one squirts an uzi
All of a sudden quite rudely

Hyper breathing bullets riddle through noone saving
Time the gang die slow bleeding out on stained pavement

I talk and my words rata tat tat tat tat
Magazine gets refilled with a rush

Skin sensitive, bone too, tunneling flesh
in thud out exit wound swoosh

Sirens and waning life force
ketchup and blood sauce

Burgers stretchers and bravado all dried up
I reload again not quite enough

wet with fear
blood and sweat, night hot as the barrel against that tasteless tat tat tat!

scatter scatter moon's betrayed you before you left to intimidate
Put yourself in the line of chaos the slaughterhouse of fate

On the scene with a submachine dream
Cat scratching rat a tat tat tat

I say rata tata tat tat tat!
Motorbikes fall bodies too
sweet impact

dead black dragons extinct the pack
Rigamortis limbs in a mortuary sack




The tale of the duchess

 Clive and Adriana lived in a high-rise apartment in Atlanta.
Adriana was a freelance designer, known for her innovative work with fabric and light. She spent her days in a small studio on the ground floor, just below their apartment.

Clive was a businessman, working for a company that offered services to Wall Street. His days were filled with meetings and financial forecasts, while Adriana’s world was more creative and fluid.
Over the time that they were married, Clive became more reclusive and rude and sometimes even abusive, even as Adriana put more effort into the relationship.

Clive and Adriana's marriage slowly fell apart over the space of seven years because Clive was neglecting Adriana and sometimes being abusive. Adriana, on the other hand, she didn't know how to handle this. Often she would offer herself and would offer help to Clive sometimes, but this didn't solve anything. And so the marriage slowly became abusive.

Clive spent more and more time at work working on his projects, and when he got home, sometimes he would be demanding of Adriana and tell her that she had to do whatever he said, and so she had no way of expressing herself and she felt completely taken for granted and also extremely exploited.

As time went by, Adriana started to give in. She started to become more compliant, and she gave up. She gave into it

Things didn't improve. He became even more demanding, and he would request that she stay at home full-time instead of doing her design job. And still nothing improved in their relationship. There was no extra spark. There was no extra warmth in the relationship. It was Clive who was hardened by the nature of his business, and there was Adriana who still had that spark of human light within her, but it didn't work out as Adriana thought. He would continue to take advantage of her, and she would continue to take it.

The story actually starts as Adriana starts having these lucid dreams about a town that she visits in her sleep. the town itself perhaps had more like 30,000 people, 40,000 people, and it had very well-polished structures, but some of the structures or some of the buildings within the town appeared to be archaic and completely different from the newer structures. There was some kind of discrepancy between the old archaic and the new modern, and there was nothing in between.

Her nightly journeys are quite safe. These dreams seem to be quite pleasant. She greets people on the street and they in return regard her, but a lot of them actually regard her first or greet her first, as if they already knew who she is. And these greetings are so natural and so believable that she starts to identify more with her dreams than her waking life.

Then on one auspicious night, she dreams that she is walking through the town and she's going right through, so she passes through to the outskirts of the city, where there are fields, and on the other side of the fields, there are old factories, factories that look like they've been erected in the 1950s with the classic four-story high structure, chimneys, and the same short, narrow windows running along each story of the building, with that gray, intimidating color.

She can hear distant screams from within the factories. She gets curious. She doesn't know if she's willing to get closer and see what they are. The town seems warm and the factories seem cold, but they both belong to the same place, in fact. And so she forces herself.

And as she approaches, she looks through the bottom windows of the building, and what she sees lit up from within the factory astounds her and both terrifies her. And so she looks on, and what she sees is hundreds of machines that have been engineered specifically for one end or one purpose, that to torture men. And there were hundreds, maybe thousands of men inside being tortured upon these machines, maybe even two or three men to one machine, and all being tortured in unison, as if the building itself was trying to make music out of their misery.

 Even though she is feeling terror, she knows that in her waking life, she is feeling some kind of pain, similar to that. She is feeling not just that physical pain that those men inside those factories are feeling, but she also feels emotional pain, perhaps in an even more intense way than what they're feeling inside that factory. So she turns to herself and she says, well, maybe I have something in common with these poor souls, as she starts walking back to the town.

But in her waking reality, nothing changes. Clive is still abusive, and sometimes he takes a belt to her when he feels like it. Sometimes he forces himself on her when he likes, and this all adds up. This all does its damage, but she sees herself now not as a human being, but as an object. And her only humanity left is that of the dream. So when she goes back into the dream the next night, she meets a man from the town hall, and the man has a reddish tinge to his skin and perfectly white teeth, and he invites her in.

And there's something else. There's something to this reddish-skinned man with perfect teeth and well-groomed, well-dressed, with his cane and with his hat. He seems to be very confident, and there seems to be something else, another strange quotient to the situation.

As they're walking into the mayor's building, and they walk one after the other into his office, she gets that feeling. She has met this man before somewhere, maybe from another life, maybe in another form, but this person or creature, it's, it's someone or something that she has interacted with before. She just can't put her finger on it. She sits down and they start talking.

The man starts talking as if he's from the normal reality, not from some dream. Everything he says is too congruent, too coherent. And he says directly to her, Adriana, "I would like to give you an invitation. I would like to extend you this invitation. And as you probably can tell, this place is familiar to you. You have seen the town, you have seen the buildings. There is something familiar about this place, wouldn't you agree? And Adriana nods, but she still doesn't want to say anything. She still doesn't, she's still not sure about what she's going to say. So the man says, you have become almost like a battery for your husband, Clive. He uses your energy and he uses you up as he goes for his career goals and your life goes nowhere. And you have been given no recompense. So we have devised something here for you, but before I extend this, I need to reveal something that might shake your ideas."

 He continues speaking and he says, "This town is familiar to you, isn't it?" And she says, "yes, it is. I can recognize some of the buildings, but I still don't understand why there are these archaic buildings and then these new buildings, and the factories on the far side, I don't understand any, any of it." And he says to her, "You were once a very important person in this place, but you won't remember because you left this place many centuries ago."

"Part of your deal about visiting Earth again, was that you would lose memory of your place here. You were a duchess of our region here, and you decided that you would prefer to spend some time on Earth and test out your magic. And now it seems you have lost all of your magic, all of your spark, and you have just turned into one of those tortured souls that we keep in the factories. And so I've decided to take a course of action that will invert things, perhaps." She asks, "What must I do."

He says, "You mustn't do anything. Can you see the factories in the fields? They are full of tortured souls." And she replies, "Yes, I can." And he says, "Contemplate for a second. Clive has made you into one of these people who suffer just as they suffer in those factories. So he is using you as a battery. You can see that we have ample power in this city. We have very good lighting, and we have a very good glow. We can let the old and the new live together exactly in harmony because we have these wonderful, productive factories." He spoke as if it was natural that human souls were powering the the town with their pain.

"Would you like to have the opportunity of inverting the situation and putting Clive in his place? And if so, I need you to state that now for me.:"

She accepts the offer and she ponders to herself, "I wonder what is coming. I wonder what I must do." And he said, "I know what you're thinking." (Reading her mind.) "You think that you must do something, that you must change something, that this is going to revolutionize or you're going to grow yourself a new life. This is not going to happen. And in fact, what we here in the town want is for you to give yourself up even more, be more submissive, be more ridiculous, humiliate yourself more for him."
And she looks at the man, completely befuddled. What is he asking of me? she thinks. And he says, "well, you're going to suffer anyway. We need you to bring this new asset in. Think of yourself as our talent scout. Think of yourself as our incredible closer”

"And when he finishes the merger, we can get him here."
"Then what will happen?"
"He'll be occupied doing this and that, probably a few errands you'd like to see him... carry out."



of the Rigid and the Free

 Wizards alone become extremely rigid
tricked by blueberry muffins
freshly watered grass
and the insanity of faun flute music

Fauns alone become scattered their nature is chaotic
Controlled by haunting desires and impulsive acts
As they trees in the forest grow out of shape
so does the faun without any semblance of order

The authority of the wizard
Freezes the faun
The cupcakes distracts
And requires cleaning up.

The director's day off

 The ruthless man who ate caltrops
Found people's past sins and brought them up for discussion
Sat on the front lawn of his square existence
cheeto crumbs and caltrops bronze

Was a souless creature completely satisfied
wailing in silence yet with a mangled grin
Making a call to head office
and firing people he remembered didn't fit

Not far from his position in the grass
Were the neighbors sunlit steps
where three emmaculate cockerspaniel puppies sat together quietly
Enjoying the morning sun probably

 On further inspection the puppies were to quiet
Approaching them it was evident
They were lifeless on those steps
Was it the man's mere presence?

Their family fun approved

 They consumed cupcakes
Their mouths were stained with colors mostly blue
This was the entertainment
The group enjoyed and became carefree

Poking fun at one another
The blue stained mouths
Their laughter g spot
Their compulsory fun

Blue stained chins and cheeks too
A mild form of approved slapstick
Permitted giggles
In their gaggle

Way of the Faun

 The faun breaks through the undergrowth.
Leaps onto two feet and blows on it's flute
The countryside awakens
It runs through the forest playing it's tune

The animals emerge curious
Some in trance
And follow the faun on the ridge
sheep break their fence to be near

It turns it speaks it raises the leaves
As if a sun of itself
Echoing it's mystical melody
and naming the new day with it

The fields and forests invigorated

quarta-feira, 1 de abril de 2026

Movement and stillness

because you loom and find yourself upon movement
upon stillness

Eyes soaking reality in
Words profaning it all out

because when you look at me you may see a man who has no expression But inside me there is a flaming hurricane of thought and emotion being harnessed by a thousand flashing hands My face is blank, but my desire is to sprint and aggress, to devour the earth whole. To move faster than light. And to be completely still.

Jutting rock A bumpy life

 How bumpy this road to nowhere is ...
coasts jutt their rocks out forth to anywhere
Lost statues the sea slowly devours over sweet millenia
Licking their surfaces in intimate salt obsession

Washing into and out of earth's pain
The car jumps and picks up again
The Coastal rock's dark shades speak to me
The stained window of the car

Sea spray hits as I roll down
I see the giant approach alone
It is the towering sacred stone
revering the elements

Changing to be so divinely jagged
How bumpy this life of fallacy
The hardened edges of our reality
The acidic sea salt owning the wind

Will it topple these rocks
eat them whole in fury
each beautiful century
quasi immortal

I hear the humm
I hear the crash through the bumps
I see the stains of the ages 
Imagine being as sturdy, as being as sane


I am peace, I am the void

That's where my peace is
inside the void
So far from anything
completely abandoned

away from anything
From anywhere
Slowly spinning in darkness
I am a mite, I am a God

I am all sizes
I am the push and the pull
I am the divine squeeze
I am the precursor