EPILOGY

she is alone
and
I am alone
the night
is a voice
that never speaks
the waters of the moon
separates us
we were
together
alone
on long highway nights
and yet
the waters of the moon
separated us

Sleepless

the city

unrolls

in

my cobbled dreams

rubbing

at the

fraying edge of

my sleep

the dead

die

in

it

talking

in circles

of a nameless

you

and there is

a tree

probably

my finger

the beggar

has my eyes

in the

muted

footsteps

of headaches

long forgotten

dogyears

ago

oh

how

I long

to go away

in

the

sleepless

reveries

of

cold

concrete

time.

EARTHLIGHT

the glistening greyness,

in your sky

a pale blue moon ,

no one shall walk

an entire world,

nothing moves

but silence

wounded by

nothing

for no reason

at all .

my morning dew sleeps
somewhere in a grey city
and inside her I am still without sleep

speak/breathe

it's time.

ambition

sooner or later it dies within you
and then you shall be a living dead
limping with a rotting leg
in a rotting city
without life, without love
without even the pale fire
of memory
alone
in the company of ghosts
more alone than ever
you won't even have yourself
to keep you company
dogdeath years
shall never pass you by
their white noise
empties the soul

INSOMNIA

In the corridors

of wingflaps

brushed by

shadowless

fingers of

stone

my heart

awaits

a dream

close your eyes

and sleep

a voice

Or

is it a footstep

inside

my

head

The moon

dripping with

blood

against

the bile blue

death

of night

a screech

some where

deep in the woods

the sea

speaking in ciphers

A memory

we were silent

she was listening

I saw

her hands

they were

silent

and

time disappeared

I am

still

awake

clocks reversed

in the dead eyes

of a fish

I walk

I love

I am alone

like

the chirping of crickets

in her dreams.

Saint Cyr

I cannot sleep,
the night has come to sleep,
inside me.
the night shall keep me awake
all night.
I am waiting
in the
crumbling
corridors of time
listening
still listening...
to the hidden sounds of sand.

THERE SHE GOES ...

And she
leaves
carrying
my broken heart
in the pit of her
soul
crying smiling singing
like a pebble
rolling down a
stream

And there she goes

And she
leaves
carrying
my broken heart
in the pit of her
soul
crying smiling singing
like a pebble
rolling down a
stream

For a Friend

If I go,

I shall leave you

my Hands

Dipped in words,

And

My sleep

Drenched in

Stars

And I

Shall take

From you

A song

Of

Silent

Mirrors

in

the plenitude of night.

SNOWBOOTS

wearing my nights
she walks

the bleak city groans
and turns in its sleep

am I a dream sticking to her
feet
keeping them warm ?
leaving marks on
the snow
like time or love or death?

Crabwalk

and there is a solitude

in the sound of the rain

the blinding deafening rain

in the vast empty night

perforated by rain

in the cold steel caress of rain

with you without you

in the crabwalking days of rain

Refuse

I live in

The time

Of ends

Numerous

Clothed,

Half -naked

Nude

Men and women

Doping on

Their wasted

Tampon or condom

Beings

Used , misused

Reused

Their time

Decaying

In

Mind numbs

Of machines

And eyes

Of light

In the

Deserts

That stretch

through lonely

Cubicles

Ill-lit

Lecture halls

And

Glass and steel

Prisons

While music

Cough

Blood

Books Gather

Dust

In the endless

Chatter

Circling

Spiralling like

Liquid moths

In silicon voids.

Smile

It so happens

that I can not be loved

My face

Splits open

swarming with worms

reveals to me

the truth:

I am the black bile

Of time

Refuse of history

Stench of memories

Decaying

Slowly

Beneath your feet

I am

Beyond

Your sleep

And

Yet

I

Smile .

UNSPOKEN

Be silent, don’t speak

for the night wind grows weak

as my feet carry me away

From this night into the day.

In the shadows awaits a song

Like a predator waiting too long

and from it I must hide

and let indecision decide

the fate of my silence , my heart

the nature of my cunning , my art

And a cigarette shall I light

In the dead of the night

To smother all fire, to disperse all smoke

To listen once again to the words she never spoke.

For Suki

There is nothing you can do about it any more. The university is always watching .It matters very little what you are doing ( or undoing) the university , invisible and silent, is watching you.Orwell or Foucault doesn't matter. You have learned about them in the university.And now Can you really turn the powerful instruments ( or weapons) of thought that these luminaries have given you towards the university itself ? of course not.....its a grand stage after all where you can stage all your fantasies of love and rebellion.


Dope, drink and fuck ( you can write poetry or even pretend to play the guitar to get laid) all you want, but there is no getting away from its claws. It has somehow convinced you that all sorts of "serious" thinking requires the legitimation of its ill-lit ( or shall we just say un-enlightened) lecture halls and labyrinthine corridors which are saturated with the rancid smell of power. But the truth is that you have been turned into a bunch of sleepwalkers ( in state of suspended animation or what i call hyper sleep) wandering aimlessly in the twilight near the ramparts of a crumbling mansion ( of God? Knowledge ?)


Thanks to a friend of mine.....I know the truth!!!


life begins neither at 22 nor at 28 ..it begins when thought succeeds in imaging a future beyond the hegemony of the university........

Dark Silence

We tried in every way to cheat silence with words and empty gestures and yet between and around us in colossal waves silence came, flooding our streets, drowning our people, gnawing at our books , only our films could talk like parrots oblivious to eschatology. Love was not an excuse powerful enough to make us speak. We surrendered to silence, to its cold steel fragrance, to its wet fingers, to its infinite black wall.....a metastasis of silence ensued, but now I know how it all began, it began simply when one night waking up in our sleep we forgot to remember each other.

Fever

the words

are teeth

jagged sharp

bone white

like death

they grind

the delicate

hands of night

bleeding songs

of owls

and foxes

she sleeps

in the empty

eyes of streets

in concentric walls

of solitude

whispering stories

of absent eyes

tossing turning

creating

waves

out of stone

knives

outgrown

with plants

that dream

of melancholy

mangrove afternoons

of saline

love.