You your personal pope
kiss the ring of your own beliefs
the ring of your own habits
the ring of your own voice
in your own ears
slurp the slurry of your own conditioning
the familar taste of old reoccuring thought
you are becoming who you have always been
the tunnel gets narrower
you your own personal dealmaker
negotiating your own vices like a god
but giving into them like a devil
Like a pope
like the creature you became to hide you hideous flaws
Your string middle
flexible spice you are
A sign of my summer
wakeful thrill and you excite my slumber
colorful dress and corona mask
mid spring wind kicks up the shy devil
a few degrees under cooling off the skin
Your string middle
Your string middle
allows you to sway and swing in the wind
never broken anymore
A piece of string you are sensuality
A piece of my routine
my life essence
My day night and week cure
The bless and caress that makes the furry cat purr
She´s my string middle since I married her
The surburban grassy enclosures of our cities
rich valleys we are put to pasture in
life is encouraging until the moment
they come for our heads
You are what you eat
is the feast of words one might force feed you
From the noble brassica
to the monocotyledon staple
Senses are dulled
apathy litters the track
toward the deafening crack
of the abbatoir
The cheap bubble like philosophy
of the procrastinating and lethargic victim mentality
forms the passport needed for slow complain worthy diseases
A fine blend of distractions to confound us from the essential
ankle deep in the digital gintrap
each little reaction a brick to build a lofty reality
with finger locked eternally to keys
Not a one lifted to apply goodness offline
the language of life is the only language
the thunderblast of truth
the lightening of illumination
kill the pretty barriers
of lovely graffiti
The family batch empty and ready to be filled
Food and drink stored in old wooden draws
The entrance has it´s old yellow paint and cracks
it´s flaws and lacks
It´s a hideaway with a map toward the tropical pines
Each family tree gave branches and trunks to build the house
That lake is out of reach
but riches and leisure lie there
People moving in as we settled
typical migrants walking through the grass
toward their new house
we´d like to see ourselves as different
As we crowd makeshift tables
put up family portraits and welcome second cousins
none of their ambitions found the address
maps got burned and exit ramps were taken
We came about the lake by chance
Isn´t that the route to happiness
The illuminated character hangs off the wall
As the clientele woff down noodles
Thousands of schemes intertwined
and spill over the chin of the empire
Merciless eyes of the new woman
The east became her kitchen
long thin lines that were once borders
consumed by modern hungry hoards
Along side the salty waters
coveted soup bowl
Huge block shaped mansions line the wide lingering avenues
The capricornian dusk cloud´s rose and orange impositions
The city of São Paulo under the five thirty sun
the eternal sunset, a world pre-festive
Torrential rain like the old t.v channel less reception
as a testament to the popular funeral, sadness as entertainment
Ostensibly expressing compassion and import
To adorn one´s charater with virtous decoration
From the darker shadows of the side entrance
Out to the neglected stony carpark
The blotchy grey sky threw itself on us
as we searched for the egotistical celebrants at the wake
As usual it was a case of false address
as it was of virtue
as it was of sentiment
As it was in their fickle understanding of privilege
