Every reality is bigger on the inside
and monsters don't come from outer
space.
Spoons and no whisks point at you at all
times
eating your eyes off your head,
making an ice cream of your free will,
while you wonder, and worry,
Worry and wonder…
W&W as if a brand of spirits
to drink slow and feel hard,
from the outstretched hand
of the goddess of madness.
Yes. Do. Exterminate.
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I tried not
to write you, this poem, and failed.
I failed,
not writing you into this poem.
And there
you are, bright and clear as annoying dew
frosted at
the top of a flaming sword,
impossible,
but real.
I tried to
fold and push any emotions, tight, into a bundle
of rags
inside my head,
contained,
safe,
in a box squared
with the walls of the real, and it failed,
it failed
to hold it all.
Its walls
imploded for a long second, then fell and
hung in the
air, shaped like the butterflies
they were
trying to kill.
Boxing
emotions is a heavy-weight combat,
I used to
be the world champ of that.
Now I lay
defeated on the ring,
the referee
counting on top of me
as I spit
out the bloody words
with every
second, waiting for the bell:
three, two,
one,
and my
reason becomes nothing,
I control
nothing,
I am
nothing
but a sigh,
a tremor, a surrendering beast
under the
heavy boot
of the
impossible turned to real
that so coolly
defeats me.
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Let's all explore the unknown,
cut
corners, jump fences,
embrace the
strange and the stranger.
The man
that walks with a smile,
shiny like
a billiard ball
bouncing on
corners,
with two
parrots in his arms,
two parrots
on his shoulders.
The lonely
poppy bursting a red heart
in the
middle of a green sea
of rye and
rounded boulders.
Let's check on all the options for bliss,
no stone left down turned.
Joy may
explode, like freaky stars
on the dark
and mute velvety
unexplored
universe's skin.
Sitting on the void of the day, your heavy truth
crushes the daffodils under its weight.
No more game of doubt can be played,
truth is all-blinding,
all-conquering,
sets you free.
So, free you are.
Sitting me, I don't hope the river waves
that were licking my toes and luring
me with promises of little,
of very little,
come back and splash me, accidentally,
anymore.
Words buzz around my head, like bees
annoying and selective
just sting on the days when the void calls,
heavy with truth,
crushing the daffodils under its weight.
You lay down.
Motionless, emotionless
for far too long.
You skin crawling away from
the big
bad
waves
of feeling
crashing down on you,
all curled up
in a kernel of
peace
like a nutshell,
hardened out
around soft you and
holding
only
you,
just to end up
swimming, soaked, in pieces
and scattered.
Now, you are
seaweed
you
are fucked,
your soft bits hang in the waters.
In the sobbing and heaving waves,
sharks dance for no one.
How do you
fight the dark?
Staple
it onto a white paper,
drown
it in ink,
make it
lay bare, flat out with outstretched arms,
capture
it,
licking it
with your brush until it begs for mercy
under the
dire lights of an interrogation lamp.
How do you conquer
the dark?
Spread
it out over silences,
over spiky
chords and notes,
jail it,
behind the
bars of a song,
a handover from your wiser elders.
How do you
make the dark collapse?
Share around its picture, in the open,
outstretched
and nude under the light of a screen,
so that
everyone can see her,
recognize her, pursue her, be warned,
be smitten,
be in love.
It was
never there
But now is gone.
It never
lived
but now is
dead.
Recoil,
crumbling mouth,
melting
ears,
deafened
eyes,
broken
shards oh so soft to the touch.
It was
never there
but beware,
It bit my
heart out.
Hollowed
out, I wander,
hellion and
bird
missing
what did not exist.
My crusade
is to create smiles
out of
nothing,
out of dark
seas of despair,
out of
connivance in awful sins
out of pain.
I am the
clown, the jester, the thief
of tears,
the collector of broken feelings,
the mender
of drums, the tuner of internal instruments,
the door
to a special
kind mourning: the death of sadness.
Empty your
pockets of pain, your head of drama, your chest of dumbbells
trying to
pull you down.
The circus
is here, it is just arriving,
conquering
your town.
Crusaders
of laughter, promoters of joy,
defeating
the darkness with make-up and jokes,
we serve you
our own blood for cocktails
we feed you
our own sad heart.
Blooming
starfish
limbs.
Fireworks
in the water.
Slowly, my
arms and legs unfolding,
like
throbbing petals in the living blue.
'Tis no
good alibi
when
night's feral cats are scratching your cheeks
leaving
twin defective vertical stair rails
as the
blood drops pave the rhythm of your song.
'Tis no
good alibi
when words
beaks pick up the maggots
of your self-infected
chest.
No, 'tis no
good alibi
when there
is a dark door obscuring
the path
that leads up to your brain.
There, in
the time
of your
ruin
is your
glove-disguised hand,
great
revenant
of ancient
sound and teenage grip.
they gathered their heaps of feelings
one on top of the other,
to build high piles of dishes
by the sink of life.
Some were sparkling, some dirty,
some cracked,
some were washed up,
some forgotten,
some glued up, some just bad.
Removing just one
any meaning would topple:
their balance in pieces
to be cleared and dusted
with hurtful slivers
of their jarred hearts.
I lost a handful of
poems
to the winds of
creditors blowing at my door.
Trying to escape the
constrictions
I erased half of my
heart,
a third of my soul
a thousand and one
minutes of loving
the world,
of enjoying the sun
and the rain.
I saw a ladybird stretching
her wings,
and barely recognized
her.
In the turmoil of
figures blurring my eyes,
wanted to fix on the
black dots sparkling on those smooth red domes.
Got only red figures
staining my blackened mood,
my tarnished song.
I have the
skeleton of a language
and even
that has some fissured bones,
that split into pieces
every time
I bend them
to fit into my foolish ways.
While you
stand there, praising my face,
that you
deem beautiful,
I wonder
what do you
see that I don't?
Why is this
so difficult to listen to?
Why is this
person who stole my mirror
mocking me
from the glass?
Who moved in,
into my image,
and does
not look the way your eyes
seem to reflect?
Blue fish,
just barely touched,
and the sea
star spreading her limbs
in all four
directions,
North,
south, east, and west
and a fifth
balancing the center,
holding on,
barely
bare.
Blue fish
flies, sleek and sparkly
to the
deep, to the deep
running
away from your hand.
Limbs tear
apart and float all around you
in two directions
Northeast, Northwest,
the fifth
one holding for dear life,
barely.
Holding.
Blue fish
swims away, away from your hand
star limbs
are trembling,
floating in
electric currents
Southnorthwestandeast,
no
direction
no course.
A fifth one
trying to grab to the real.
The real is
wet.
The real
slips away.
The real is
gone.
Oceans of
emptiness await you
after
the star
explodes,
after
the blue
fish
swims away,
not to
disturb the ladies
sitting at
the round table,
dry-complaining,
never to
see a drop
of true sea
water.
Everything
goes fine, fine, fine.
And there
it comes, an ugly day
a spiteful
day,
a day of
thorny words,
of jagged silences,
punching
your eyes,
crunching
your tongue,
pulling
your shoulders
down.
And your
legs
go heavy
and you just sit, sit, sit,
and lay,
lay, lay, lay down
in anger, in
fear
of not
being yourself
or anyone
anymore,
floating in
a sorrow soup
salted with
incomplete ideas,
peppered
with grains of despair,
warmed up
in the coals
of incorrect
timing,
of unfortunate
spaces,
of unplanned
outbursts,
boiling up
and spilling,
to soften
the dry twigs
of you
fragile will.
I offered
myself as a present,
the best thing I could give to you,
the only thing I could think about.
But I pressed my lips against your
mouth too hard,
and you swallowed up my life so fast
that I was dead
the morning after.
And now I am asking
why did I speak so much?
why did I give myself,
away,
deceiving myself
telling you all the truth?
All, and, the truth of it,
not being myself at all.
In all my words
trying to be all
(for you)
For you were all that mattered
that night
But it was not as hard, then,
as it is now.
(let's face it, I'm still just a
stupid child)
and you knew that
as you always seem to know it all.
Now, I am speechless
for there is nothing I could say.
I am left senseless,
for there is nothing left to my
senses.
I am sleepless
in the midst of a load of dead bodies,
of dead carcasses of stories,
of words long passed away
after resting for a second in your
heart,
and getting frozen to the bare bone,
before they ever knew
they were buried deep in ice.
There is a
dam, crashing open,
like an
eggshell under elephant hooves.
Amazing how
that harsh fragility
is hiding
the diamonds of unwanted thoughts.
Lost in space
with nothing to hold to,
I hang on to alien attentions.
Galaxies are passing by,
all these little tendrils
getting their way to my core.
Where did all the rose petals go?
Where is my shoulder?
Where my belly-button?
Nothing matters anymore,
or else,
nevermore,
floating,
and anyhow, all is crystal clear,
nothingness
is a warm blanket covering my pain.
Anguish is gone
forever,
till tomorrow,
on an errand,
or to darken up some ancient black hole.