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.
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.
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.
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?