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.

the wild ones

I'm gonna mark you like a territory
piss and love under your clitoris
sweat and spit all over your boobs and belly,
those nice hard boobs,
that nice steady tanned belly
you couldn't ask for more
it's like animals do.they get
scared and flee
they do.
but they always leave marks
too...

The loneliness that won't hurt you

its a quiet night stuffed with wolves that howl
and drink bourbon
until 6 am
I sleep in this bed so quiet
it must be my sound of
enjoyment and pleasure
hm-hm's for good and tired
shhh,
I say to myself who tries to sleep
this is a large bed
its like a mirror divided in two
only that this one has sheets
a pilow
a feather duvet
pearl like
sometimes a cat at our feet
shh, I say to myself
I want to sleep
but the wolves keep howling outside
inside
this bedroom
such a fury of animals
with the heat
the fever
the infirmity that governs my(ours) body
shh, I try to tell her, but she keeps pushing it
a bed that should be so quiet
I give up
light a cigarette or two
think about the sliced tomatoes
the full moon
the yogurts
the piece of shit that persists in fucking my shoe
this and that
the pelage and the sweat
a bunch of teeth
then I stand up
take a few steps on the room
look around, crawl a bit more into this darkness
of a full moon summer night
its not always about company
but loneliness
loneliness is a bitch
I take control over the motion
pick up a pair of panties
and feel the notion
that this scent has been smelled before
the moon plunges into my room at night
shh, let me sleep,
I tell myself
there's only room for one
but reality is a bitch too
and if loneliness won't be so arduous
sleeping would be easy for you
too

I got a lot of work to do tonight

And its driving me nuts
finding a spot or a line
to start with
and drive the line or the spot
into a reasonable end
that will lead me to where I'm supposed to be leaded

the skin that covers my finger bones
starts crashing and revealing the flesh
that slashes
into three or four cuts
that probate me only
to stick with this willing of determination

I got a lot of work to do tonight, I tell him
we both know about what I'm talking about
there's not really many optinions if we considered it
scrtach
mone
a stone,
in both pockets,
that is not a stone
but a concentration of dilemmas
and games and flirtation
with parables, metaphors, figurations, false ideas
that unclear the battlefield
and allocates it in two converging poles
in an unreliable end, and ruthless, cruel
how much greed
ours,
we
who are nobody
even less those that represent us by the
name, form, voice, smell,
it's a figure so awry formed
a conquest
that leads us here
with stones deeply hidden in pockets
that don't rip

so much to do tonight!
clean the shit that commes glued to the hands
that travel inside pockets
a bit confortably

start to learn this story
that has always been learnt
so far
so bad
incorrectly
its getting us there, I tell him
what, he asks
the time we die
we'll be all
pretty buried and death
its getting us there
nothing else flushes away
we'll have nothing to
complete or combine
but tonight
we got a lot of work to
do tonight

Yap, things

that thing you've been calling a soul
doesn't belong to anyone
not even myself
when it's right there holded on the arms
of two irreverent kids
who will only put them in
amusing danger
the thing - soaked wet warm -
you've been calling a consciousness
has no longer place between
the flacid stretched skin and flesh
of crossed bodies
the thing you've been calling myself
has no longer a meaning here
at this earth, solid space
commonly called for social integration
coherency
lucidity
human stupidity
it's time for the landing place
to prepare itself
and shot a plane
up to the sky
to get things where they are called right
without misspellings
no wrong soles, no guilty unpleasured consciousness, no identidies or names or cruel independency
and particularization
there'll be a bunch new unity up there
the thing you've been calling liberty
you've been saying it all wrong, pour kid
its only nostalgia and melancholia

Delirium at a toilet's door

The skin releases
This hazelnut kind of smell
Which pinches the air
appearing hot and melted
like Sweat
that drips
and warms

Rips a ephemeral scrape
Of member banality
And this second pulses
In a lewd way
On the chests
Where then dwells
tepid
damp
petted
forever.


Pulsions like these you don’t erode
An orgasmic deliverance of the idea
And of what is the figuration of desire
Exteriorized by the curl of four arms
And two necks
The bosom that breathes upon the bosom
With hearts that pump upon each others
Arrhythmitized
In roars and howls
Grunts of two wild species
Febrile
And we only holded hands
And we passed them by the bristle hair on our arms
With closed eyes
Without exciding the ephemeral delectation
The groans turn into hiccups
And we pull our fingers deep down to our bones
Sunken on the honeyed skin
But it doesn’t hurt
He is a gentle boy
I fear that this will languish at this point
And it truly languishes
Maybe I’ll embrace it
Two scorching orbits
That wamble in climax
Lonely at a toilet’s door
So then
My biological body forces me
To act humanly
And I leave
to do what you best do
in toilets.