a paradox, perhaps you'd say
imagination frees reality
what if it's the other way round:
reality frees imagination

my lips forget your ironies
waters feel your surrender
the rush hour of something ineffable knows
you are caressing the back of the light
your words are crispy and salty

I emigrate into a silence that keeps its promise
I'll learn your steps like the worm learns the apple
or the sea learns the depth

light learns colour from its carbon dreams

the hours bloom in the ebb of flowers
these bones are branches of a thought without signature
who thinks for my blood, my soles or hands
the hands feel to fill up the void of thoughts
who listens to the rhythms of life
who cares to know the decay of truth the reality of feelings
the ghetto of the mind breaks the world into unvindicated stories
we jump into the sky as if into a revolution
we traverse our nature from one end to the other

let's mix the unknown of our thoughts
let's  dequantify, step out of our center
a disputed sky is carrying its weight
who is going to...
fill the torture chambers with the echo of dreams
let poetry vindicate all tears
look brutality in the eye, thought's fermentation
we see the world through our wounds
the magnitude of being alive cancels sunsets
history recycles uncertainty, our necessary hands

we strive to redeem the hiatus of colours

Bittercress and blue Veronicas bloom,
The promise of spring's desire.
I've been incubating, wrapped up in
Winter's womb, frozen
Yet still warmed by the fire.
This one was the worst.
The trees still bare,
Proudly naked despite Hades' curse.
I refuse to "move on,"
And I would never dare.
She's my Persephone and I'm Demeter,
So I asked the sirens, wail your song through
The ether and help me find her.
It's almost Easter.
The kids still young enough to hunt
But this doesn't last, just like
Spring herself and life's silly little stunt.
And though I weep for what was lost,
The wheel still turns the bloom,
The fall, the frost.

Happy Birthday to me.
I brought myself to completion
In the dark of this great soaring ****
Silently I made love to myself
Someone sleeps beside me

In the aisle someone feels
My passion growing and coming
His legs shake as mine quake and quiver
The smell of my love on my fingers
musky, primordial, satifying.

my cells have their own theories and fruits of dying
even porcelain dreams
when I am with you I enter the tunnel of vision
I can see better what happens with fused from confused
me and him trapped in the asylum of gestures
somnabulists through our own skins
while they are busy scrolling
God forbid to hear the sadness of a time
that is getting darker and darker