Out-and-out

They say cigarette ashes
will not cover this in its totality
and I told them that they didn’t know
they were not apt to understand something like that
“we’ve been doing a lot of things these past two years,
We don’t know where we are”
However its nice to have cigarette ashes
it means you smoke them up to their filters
and that you left something
That you still leave something
So negligible as a cigarette ash
and dirty sheets
and a bed that seems like a battle field
Arms that cover you up
That pinch you, that tell you that you are something
That you mean something between them
and you could dive in your room
With tired eyes
Red and poisoned and demented
Not knowing
How could it be resembling
To something you do know
I feel something rubbing along
My thighs
The fighter side of his own
I feel sick for typewriters
Cause they wouldn’t be able to type this
and I would get angry
destroy all cigarette ashes
then smoke more cigarettes
to make more ashes
Clawing clothes and wrapping tongues
Would feel like a brief stop in time
and the room stagnates in perpetuates fullness
They still don’t know
but I think they do.
and people sit at their tables and try to eat
Nocturnes scratch the stereo
and boys and girls sleep in beds
Avoiding the opacity of the world
We move in slow motion
We don’t live things, we burn them
Cats sleep in narrow beds
I wonder how they never fall
Thinking about that
Makes me realize that
Nobody ever knows anything
That cats may fall off
That kids may not be able to sleep
That this dirty sheets may be disappear really soon
Cause time flushes that away
So does a button
In a toilet
And a paper
With a rubber
And two hands.
By now I have cigarette ashes
And an hard member
Rubbing
Doesn’t matter much more
It’s a room
A side table
Two heads that will sleep
Trying not to beat
The wilderness of the world

Poison Chase

She bites it
And she bites it very slowly
The tip of her finger
Disappears in the mouth
and those red eyes
And a wet tongue
White sharpest teeth
That form something
as beautiful as a smile
her hands grab her own waist
In pain
Hardly never giving in
She moans so quiet that it is almost impossible
Not to ear her
And she moves lewdly like a snake moves to chase a rat
She shakes her hair
Blonde and bright it crawls down her shoulders
And it doesn’t disappear
It stays there right above the breasts
Which breathe with tremendous significance
It’s very easy to desire that we can breathe with them
hot flesh
all of it perpetuated
by nimble moves
that make that hair crawl a little bit more
And the legs and the skin keep on the torrid breathing
she moves
Clearly in the direction
just like a snake moves to chase a rat.

And then she bites -
Oh and she bites it good.

Two Men

I'm at a bar
and the spotlight
feels like the sunset
only with a more green-yellow colour
and for a moment or two
I get distracted by a move
of some hair
and two long toned arms
with blue purple veins on the hands
and elegant fingers, man fingers
that switch the hair like they switch
the music buttons
I get distracted and frozen
the hair fells back, just for a
minute or two and I see this
mild eyes asking
expecting
testing
for a second or two
I give in
let them look like that
look at them even more pleased
I ask
and expect
and test too
but only for some seconds
I suddenly remember and fade away
I look to the veins, to the hands, to the hair again
the eyes look down
to the mixer
asking, expecting, testing
and discretly starting to
demand, wreak, plague

Inspiration

by the times of great inspiration
I seem to be lost somewhere else
tracked by a remote notion of what
seems to be THE THING
other times, I gotta be like Hunter S. Thompson
and provoke my own cahos
I bring myself to that
make the magic
of writing it down.
other times, I'm too lazy
to pick up a pencil
and a piece of paper
so I sit down
and imitate
a sound
until the sound is tired of being imitated
and shuts up
other times, I get my sward
and I fight my ideas
never won the battle
but I'm proud,
so I insist
got a lot of willpower.
in the end,
this is all very simple:
some may say I'm a happy woman
I got some papers, some loads, some men

and most of the time
I write, I sleep, I fuck, I love and I eat

May the forces of evil get lost on the way to your doorstep

People have funny ways of saying goodbye
they generally never say it.
they hold it to themselves
and force to maintain it
where it doesn't get out
not even a single slice
disguised by low movements and
simple actions
as crawling down the street with lamp eyes
looking out for meat
or damn minds
or only for a simple source of love
confort
tender
for the nub
reachable in someone else
what do I have to say?
we don't really know how to say goodbye
we own this human system of get
attached to things
not knowing when to give them back
but there are lots of things
out there in the world
and we will often realize that we are all
poor bastards that want
too much,
and that
goodbye is sometimes a blast

People don’t know how to love anymore

People don’t know how to love anymore,
I told him
And why is that? He questioned,
In a torn timbre
They suck blood out of their lovers
Like mosquitos drain their victims
And they have the tendency to leave imprints
On the skin
On the first type of flesh
But not long time marks, you see
just superficial kinds of one
That itch and scratch
But don’t hurt
But stay there
Very quiet and nuisance
And our first trend
Is to lick them
Like you lick a wound, to stop the bleeding
But after a while
Licking
You realize they’ve gone too far
And there’s not really any point
In being licking
Cuz we’re all gonna be sucked
Until we’re 90 in a wheelchair
And this is not the end of the world

On The Road

It happens this thing when you’re travelling on the road
You never put your eyes on the cement floor
Or the lane roads
Or the trees that past by
Your four roads rushed up with speed
The music that is bumping from your stereo
The hand that is making a rhythm
And for god sakes, you think
This wont be a long road
Or a long trip
And you’re not going to be travelling forever
So he stops the car
He makes a quick step in the brake
And giggles
You try to love him so much
But its just a trip
Inside a car
A box of cigarettes
And a pack of bags
The silent sads
That travel and love to travel
Into selfishness
And a pure shameless air
Into nowhere
Dive into pure madness
He makes a quick step
He giggles
The fingers on the steering wheel
This is driving into nowhere
But somewhere
We find ourselves to be
aware
of
all of that
where.