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.

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