Monday, April 1, 2019




I open my ear to you
Whisper your secrets to me!
From your dark velvety cloth
unfold your vibrato
to my huge bleeding inner ear
Pour one drop after another in a downfall
of black holes swallowing galaxies like there is no tomorrow
this time in a reverse manner
Pour your symphonies
Blast by blast
String by string
Vibrato with vibrato
Universe after universe
Break the deafness that builds dark matter ceilings in the way of your light


Already spring
For days, the blue sky  was announcing
A new season
The birds caught their song from a blessed wind or maybe Cupidon himself brought
The chirping back with his arrows
Already spring
New broken veins on my feet
A map of little deaths preparing me for the leap
Into a forever spring
Yes, I have decided
Death is a sea of hyacints
A field of tulips
A waterfall of white petals soaring
Whirling, covering all ruins
Already spring, my cravings for green blades of grass, fully dressed in green trees, large smiles stretching the wrinkles of winter...
My cravings are finally over, forgotten, melted in the pot of all seasons
In every cell of my flesh spring builds its nest
Little wings of hope will elevate my mood
Already spring and I am wearing red shoes


All the women from that place
Were smelling of opium
Once I've almost fainted due to this fragrance
This time I've started to cough
All of the sudden
While the poet was whirling his lips so roundly
In his far away Spanish
I've stepped back from the stage with a kind of anguish
A hatefulness on these poets' women
The debauchery was bursting out from under their bangs
It seemed that a sort of pair matching was taking place
The last year mistresses were looking for fresh new budding poets
The poet, Spanish to the core, except his name
Was typing furiously and the contrabass kept him company
The muses took place one by one in front of him
And he successfully pretended to be inspired by them
The chanteuse had her skirt splitted up her waist
Enough to inspire even the walls
I've left
That damned perfume was knotting my respiratory routes
The poets were already cuddling the nude of the contrabass


It was one of those days when
The victims, my victims
Piled in the back of my mind
Have gathered forces and started haunting me
They made the walls crumble
The floors got fluid
I was walking but also swimming and kind of drowning too
No, it wasn't the house of horror
No deceitful mirrors either, they've been previously broken
The shards  pierced my soles
And I was still jumping up and about
When the skeletons
laughing like crazy
decided to visit me
They joined the victims crowd
And started playing the amnesia game


I shouldn't murder my sister
The imaginary one, of course
She was nice and we had great conversations
The white walls were always her inspiration
She would paint horses
Talking horses, at least that was my impression
They had verses around their mouths
I remember asking her if they could fly
She leant her head to the right
Like a painter
No, that is a cliche
It is enough that rhymes are hanging from their snort
And then, just then I killed her
I wasn't furious or frustrated or anything
Only that her imagination was tight around my skin


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