Oswald's Autumn

I have done

what you have not

or would not then the

moment that met your eye

is not the same

as the moment in which

those clouds held

the breath and light that

lit that day.

Here in January

a rose bloomed once

a little,

red-folded one.

There is

more than meets

the eye

"what meets the eye"

you asked but

I could not answer I

felt disappointed

completely betrayed, all-through.

Alexandria's Wall

In the middle of everything
(and despite everything), I turn around and put a hand to my forehead as a way to lessen the warm, hurtful beaming of the sun.

I look at the small part of the town that still shows from where I stand,

it is clear that the sandy dunes have blocked the beautiful view of Alexandria by now.

"Egypt remains the same, after all these years."

I manage to utter behind the turbant.

Somehow every aspect of a journey that was both warm and bitter manages to be a bit more unclean by the minute.

And more as I keep twisting around with the ideas,

nothing seemed new but everything seemed wonderful.

Egypt, you look clean, bright yellow.

But I myself,

(here, dressed in white and dirty with the sand on my clothes)

I'm NAIVE to not look beyond you.

To Washington, France, Quebec and the Great Wall,

And YOU again, go figure.

There must be a reason outside of this galaxy.

I'm in front of you, pouring the entire ocean in this tiny hole in the sand to find the answer.

Every word swum in my head, floating and bursting like a sea urchin, very big and full.

"How much until the next town?"

With you, Egypt,

the possibilities are not endless.

Your skyline is beyond infinite, yes.

But the moon is upstairs putting an eye on us.

There, drawing figures of ourselves: one in place, the other defeated.

As you can see, it is getting dark.

Further I walked, not knowing how much of a walk this was.

What lies ahead?

A big great mother of a son trying to twist every one of my hearts.

Much of a night, with a road ahead.

Egypt, I once thought you spoke in tongues, as if driven by the Holy Ghost.

It seems, these days, that

your heart belongs somewhere else.

As I'm moving towards the south I finally figured something out.

Sand Creek

I felt indian sand around the Golden Hearts.

A dissonance closed the eyes. Warm.

I walk north far from the bees, and get to a place where I can be heard by thousands. Rest.

You found me defeated behind several trees, to a river and far from turmoil.

Maybe I couldn't see well or maybe the sun was strong: you seemed

white and brief (and Grand), like a ghost.

I thought the ground was vast enough

I thought the ground could bear miracles from legions poured on our clouds,

such as

warm milk

into our brains,

big and plain but I was wrong.

I thought you were the land itself.

You're in the middle and suspended, whereas I fall again.

I return, defeated, at the same time somewhat healed.

Many walks ahead.

A desert blew away the signs.

A river washed away the bees.

Rebecca's Ocean

someday, Rebecca.

some flowers can last forever.

Isaac has divided an ocean, has wiped the sand to an extreme.

But the night seemed white and you were laughing at the moon.

A plea, Isaac, a prayer.

But not to Rebecca's sanity, not today.

Find Isaac's nature for yourself, we already have.

It was raining, I remeber.

I felt so alone.

Isaac's Prayer

Your shoulders turned blue:

"Vinegar's back."

Obviously.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thousands on Monroe's economy, very very wet

and with the scent of a whore, delicious to your behavior.

You wrote something down.

The sundance has begun.

Swift.

Isaac is praying, far be it from any type of madness.

This is a Viper that is attacking this country, so you go.

Yes. Off you go to try and seize the sun,

Take me with you, again with a sea ladder.

To project ourselves and to hold on to any good

although everything is wrecked.

Absolutely!

Sun down, sundance.

Your face is in my heart and sad is the fact that we're pulled apart by centuries.

One Day

And you just may go...

(For the blues and for the sun you're hugging.)

out of here and into the city.

Whatever you are thinking I've already thought.

I can say we'll meet again,

I have not yet seen the best of you.

A year from now Celia will be drowned by a big white cloud.

Some of her hair will fall into your knees.

(Thoughts)

All in all, within the corn and before this ends,

I think you don't know what's happening IN FRONT OF YOUR EYES

Before the oil was warm and the sun casted a shadow, I

never knew I would be wandering in low spirits,
in this yellow ocean and holding a square upwards to cover the sun.

You came with the body on the thrill.
Our power was at the mouth,

but frozen like the ice that broke my spirit once,

broke your eyes in front of the Lord.

Again, the power lost itself

as it came:

fast,

in this great ocean.
Again, melancholy is found
yes, in the eyes of the horse.

A diamond is casted to the bottom.

falls in sand
only to break.

I don't know what the thing is that I'm seeking here,
and there have been many times before.
"Is there any good within you", left me wondering.

Again I find myself more than lost...

More to a telescope, if I can guess a few words.

For you it was over when she said the word 'maybe'. Funny enough I've
come to find everything was over for me in the first place.
Very well, I left the newspaper on the coffee table,

the sun wasn't out yet.

Down in Vienna a good hand was feeding the slaves,
like good wine:

Will it better itself with age?

There was a lake in my mind,

an ode to your strength

"I'm not hungry anymore", I thought.

I felt a punch from a silvery, platinum hand.

as if revenge had surfaced as an alternative again

Not everything comes around.

I felt empty and full at the same time.

To Autumn (if Deceived)

Sometimes daylight is in Autumn's pocket.

Baby orange, with a minimum glare.

Autumn shared so many stories that boosted the sun to crush.

Oh, in a rocket,

------Autumn thinks------

towards inspiring outer space

There were no proportions between the condensed smoke,

Down-to-earth

A red-colored farm.

Afterwards (overwhelmed) I leave misery behind.

I close Autumn's journal.

I hide inside a wagon, between pieces of carbon, towards Russia.

Silver and Green

Silver and green to deck the halls.

Every once in a while our world ends with silver toppings.

Sympathy for those nights,

Plastic toys from the 90's,

placed upon Cruella deVil's fur.

Night, New York, red strobe lights.

Deep inside you, like a light there is warm frosting.

Better days if you're around
Better days if you're not

Here Christmas is colored red, dark green and violet,

never against my soul but in support of.

I don't know
(from where you stand)

if there's any hope left in your heart

although your blood is warm, oh well.

Silver and green to deck the halls.

Every once in a while our world ends with the dismay of our hearts

You may dismay,

you may dismay

for an end

as my heart dismays in spite of memories

that want to be
risen

again

and cannot.

Silver, and green.

Deck the halls.

Frozen

(spirit)

Coughs and faints on the snowy grass, twice.

Wonderseed

Balmy.

Something bites from the tree,

love in my heart or sadness from the magic,
Despite what moves within you

Bewitness
love crawling with the power of serpents.

"Deep sadness watered in magic?"

Wonderseed.

To want a rescue and relay in the nectar.

Wonderseed, as a lie.

Yellow corn, sunflowers.

A field: life.

Svetlana's Second Intentions.

Blunt I'm being.
Svetlana shouts: "I want all and then some."
Don't we all?
Wait your turn.

Somehow I stay calm as a child, Noah.
Graceful and native.
More or less.
Eaten,
and I swim
deep inside an empty well, hollow.

But a story that is not about Svetlana isn't truly a story.

Eastern Harmony For Rosemary

Rosemary, wonderfuly painted.
Very.

Big and warm, wrapped inside a rose.
Never hollow,
graceful and delicious.

Rosemary, who was traded and eaten with a cabaret heart.
Very red.

Don't forget, Rose, above you there is a sky.
Night (if young) will provide us signs of flavors:

peach trees,

lemon love.

And a purple demon.


Unfortunately you don't choose in this game.
Time does.

Alabama's Greatness: Indoors

Warm-given sheets and your bed,
like honey from a dragon.

Magic? If in the woods I don't feel it but I want it.
I was tired outside Alabama.

Many prefer the cold.

But I'm here with sand.
Somehow summer,
somewhat dry.

If you sail abroad, will the sky miss the sun?
Don't.

I was given wood to build the sky.
That's as if I'm walking upon fire.

Heavens

"Exactly," I said.
"The things I taught you, heaven,
have come back again to haunt me."

"There is substance in you, still."

Why again, on your face.
And yes, I know you.

More than betrayal, desire.
But you don't seem to face the sun these days.

Oswald, I'm wandering.

Oh Oswald, how much we love to bite from the devil's arms.
The sky is frozen and orange, so I'm traveling.
Can you see whatever is beyond noticeable?
My heart is such a heavy anchor but faithful when there is
not much to have faith for, but we can argue this.

She moans, delayed and silver-y.
Delayed in a garden, but mighty.

The venom lured you, to this Violet is supernatural and my fears are bottled.
I wish for the downfall, like the kings bestowed.
Like a librarian, haunted by the wine.

All I get is absolute silence.
Sweet silence has been here before.
I don't need this.
How much do I want what I cannot have?

Big cathedrals,
Cows that have recovered from bad dreams and have
let their milk dry.

I'm just wandering, I'm humble.
It is unfair, I deserve more.

Near a Happening Sun

I wish I'd want to swim inside ancient caves to
find answers to
find inside crystall happiness
blue water.

I don't know,
the pain was red to
each Gospel heart forgotten.

What do I see?
A breeze out the window:
They hold teeth and hands and
fear is away

And we've got a winner.

Again, in spite of an ozone sadness of an
impossible lifetime.

"Discipline, sunny jam."

Song For Ourselves

It was true.

There was blue light,
waves and shells
Music for sun-on-the-shore souls.
Pleasing mountains, a breezing sun.

I've had reasons to feel sad, all for the better.
Carrying the world in blooming faith.

The incompetents were frozen beneath lemon water.

The light beams directly into the water,
what is the reflection saying?

Not a mirage over a year of thirst.
But transparent love, with a smile and a silvery flick.

The Desert

You could say there are different tales to tell at night.
Your absence has made them coil,
has made us put our thoughts inside a box.

It is fair to say we all miss someone through the roots of a wise man of the ground,
a somewhat peasant that preached at a mountain.

Funny enough that mountain doesn't seem to be far from here.

The night was cold, again.








I don't know what you look like, you taste dry
like the wind.

Did the desert know this would happen?
33 men beneath her roots and I don't care if it is dark because
I'm stepping on sand from Jerusalem.

Saints

Today is tuesday. There is a blank space.

I wonder if it is foolish of me

to think

we were both whole, holy and risen

because we are both

named after saints.

Above a Nostalgia

A lecture?


What's her purpose inside an intricate alley?
"To serve only as an entrance, man."
You think you have seen it all
And here were are talking about a lettuce that has been through thick and thin.
Silence was casted as a gun in this scene.

An old gypsy never fails to impress.

"Above a nostalgia"
I thought.



Drops carved a diamond from an iceberg.
This are variegated words, you wouldn't know because your silence avoids me.
To advance, I'm not supposed to love you.

Forward.

Who cares if it's been over a year?
I am creating a whole SUN around me.

You would swim in beautiful eyes that made me
want to eat bread again, I'm traveling instead.

Not red wine,
To seize the sun.
My piano loves me back and
I'm sure there are better days to surface.

For Them

Only as sad
as when your lips carved:
"What have we done to ourselves?"

I could see what you were seeing,
An empty film filled with horror.

Son, every sun turns itself.
Yesterday the curtains were down,
the bed unmade.
They wouldn't see us.
We care.
we care.
They don't know us.
They don't know how much of a sun we have inside ourselves.

We are risen,
and whole.
And tears have tied a string of fire.
Around you,
through me
and beyond ourselves.

"What will I ever do without you?"

An army cried
and placed its thoughts inside a box.
I cried in your absence.
To release a white light.

I hope you can see it from where you stand.

Sun, faith.
Like a little candle.
Hidden in dark,

I prayed.

The Fifth Jewel

ancient Egypt, 51 b.C


I believe
the first time I knew I was getting murdered
was when Cleopatra uttered her last words.

She was dressed in cotton the day of
Caesar's assassination.

We were in the crowd.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm not in Cairo anymore,
The sun stopped bleeding.


A mirage sways ahead,



I've been murdered.

. . .







I was being sought
after I found The Five Jewels
hidden in the Valley of the Kings.

Who can say if there's any luck left,
where are The Five Jewels now?
They are definitely in wrong hands.
(Sahara, red-tainted)

As I'm getting closer to finding out who killed me
I realized I had replaced the Fifth Jewel.
For me the fifth one is not the biggest in size but the
greatest in soul.

If you ask me 'what does it feels like?',
I can't explain.
My memory floats blurred on the Red Sea.
Maybe Cleopatra's body rests there, I don't know.

Let me explain the importance of the Fifth Jewels.
If you're reading this, you know what I've been through.
You know how much I've come to
love my Jewels.

To have love for the first three would be a foolish thing to say.

But oh, the gods know how much I've felt desire in the last two.
Maybe danger rests in them.
Maybe lust and greed feeds them.

My eyes were mouths when I was murdered.
My body was buried inside of the Great Sphinx.
Therein lies your first assignment.
Go and find my body and you will find the Fifth Jewel within me.
Maybe inside where the secrets died altogether.

Go to the market town of Alexandria and find an old man by the name of
Selim Hassan
Look at him in the eye and say:
"what else could he do?"
He will understand and will give you further directions.

Good luck, friend.
Everything will come together at the end and you'll understand.
Trust me all along the valley, son.
The rain will feed us both, soon.

To Forbidden Jane

(... a room.)

Hollow.

Beware, Jane.
And no, I can't stop thinking either.

I don't know why this reminds me of you.

From a secular son I don't seem to find anything,
I see the cornfields wearing the ocean apart.

Only white light borns from watching you,
For him you are a second coincidence.

There's no such thing.

The sun opens
its arms to

welcome
a
lie.

With The Trail of an Eagle

Another season, Caesar. Another lie, another argument.
They've left many times, with the trail of an eagle.
(A shadow drags you up the stairs and down the stairs.)
They die away.
Shrink
into the opposite side of the room.
Me, soon to forget
as weak as the eagle that flies into unknown
and off this land.

They are at the back of my hand.
And I choose never to be forgotten.

"How miracles slide down"
You said, softly.
I thought you were nothing.
But you have proved a shadow
is more
(these days)
than a human that walks as if
life was not a word worth writing about.

Confusing as it is, I give second chances and furthermore I deserve one.

Backstabbing California (Part 2)

My mistress sports a dress today.
Her name is Dissapointment and she doesn't know what a smile is.

Today she's on my side once more,
she brings back four-hundred eagles that were dead until today.

We are an army under the feet of a giant.
We don't promise anything.

Let us not ask any questions
Forget the foolish things we said

I don't know if you are a human anymore.
You don't stand for the things you used to belive in.
Your soul falls, easily, as snow.

You drink a sting, a bear drinks beer from a barrel.
Let us age the wine first.

I am more.
You say: "The opposite of winter is hidden from view."

Who are you?

How remarkable.
To advance the hollow body of an owl.

I need to laugh.
But Dissapointment doesn't even know what a smile is.

A Rose, Eleanor

A rose, Eleanor
Caresses away in bloom

grounded

the wind with red dust
Your Bergamot eyes

it falls
maybe slower
Than before.

blinks at
white Eyes
follow them
France allows

At the end I see a light
but you
can only murder me

when I'm sleeping

The Seven Regrets of Peter

Run to catch your own sun, and never mine.
Run to make me forget what you looked like, before ourselves.
Run further south,
I forgot you and my dreams sat on a plane to Indonesia.
Mary gave away eyes and bread for the occident.

Sand comes along,
a sword and a shield holds a saint's body.

Reject me, bodily bite from the blackest berry.
The blackest berry holds the prize.

Forgive Luke, forgive the Gospel as I don't want to seek for gold inside our native mountain.
But wherever you're going Mary's eyes swim in sequins.

I assumed differently.
Three more nights faced the moon.
Bollywood nights, and blood melts with the river.

Problems, Choices.

With drops of sarcasm from me, you made a choice.
A wonderful choice that elevates you.
You looked from your shoulders and down, I don't need to go any further.
Your blood is rather different, the ground can stomach different behaviors and you haven't been on this other side.
Oh well, your voice as a feather, sang repeatedly.

I'm smart, I swayed the wings and knock the tails out of my system.

We're on a sun that sways with us, the choices you made have made me shiver.
Stay with me.
Don't shake hands with this town.
Let's leave.

Tomorrow I can sense a sky with orange clouds.

A Tooth From Mozart's Mouth

"Whatever makes us come closer."

You swore on Peter's grave.
I didn't think lust was at my door, I found disappointment.

I've been searching
through seas,
beyond and silver.

Just why and where?

Whilst my eyes provide miracles,
my heart lacks of wonder.

I'm not close, far.
You're laughing, holding Mozart's jaw.
A dim lamp reflects the shadow of Peter's eyes.

5:15.


You swore again.

Dove in Snow

You've been confused, I've been confused.
With a white thread.

. . .

There seems to be less snow today.
Than.
yesterday.
(You didn't move, you took a glance outside and forgot to breathe.)

You can't reach the window,
I see a dove outside
or the shape of a dove.
If you breathe
(don't breathe)
you'll miss it.

The dove has spoken:
"Linda's ornaments look dark grey from the outside."

I knew there that the dove knew more of ourselves than we will ever know.

Holding hands with January, they waved at us.
The weather was unbearable.

I just didn't care.
I opened the door and poured white water so that the snow would melt.

It echoed.

Bird of Love

Like a bird of love.
She finds water in the desert.

I don't pay attention to quiters.
With a bind she loads a gun again
and hides it as she recognizes the door that leads to the garden.

Please know that there have been secrets, slaves involved.

Native Love

Walk further.
It is sad to see the vineyard has lost a son,
but a rose is risen at your name, at the top of the lips of a dove.
Never forgets.

------------------------------------------------------------------

She dies of love.

An eagle sends chills down her spine.

I have died there
before her and on the roughest surface
but see-through.
In front of the Lord.
Again see-through.

I think she cries in a yellow river.
South, where she doesn't belong.

I'd be lying if I say I can see you.
Where are you?

Upon your rivers, Blackfoot
she has washed her clothes.

A native hand.

The mountain, and sacred beads left there.
All in all, to reach you.

There by the fire I hinted:
"It's up to you."

Ended Ocean

Love in every corner,
in dark places, inside
of the sun. Oh praise
the lord. Love is here,
at your afterglow. Is
a fist that holds a bird
A tongue that licks the
dust that had the grace
to sweep your feet.
gently.
I am here because I know
that love has carved us
inside a sculpture, in the
roots of my foster people.

Come to see, daughters
and sons. I have made
the difference in your
lineage.
But the show is over,
Love bites and breaks
the roots. Foster nature.

Come to the rescue after my
roots have fallen and the
distance from my heart
and

mind
is longer than the distance
from this tribe to another.

Love swims across silver rivers,
wraps itself
in egyptian feathers and I can
see you
smiling if we are lucky enough
to have poetry outpouring our
rivers.

Every luxury seems less outstanding
than your face. How painful.

Your Day

You don't mean to say 'thank you' but
you have been blessed and wetly woven like the breeze.
I can trust you when you say you haven't seen a sea of fire, or even
water drinking from the sand.
(To this I can tell you are sad.)

When you speak, my food vanishes under a heavy sun.
You suggest that every master fools its puppet, I can agree but this day is dense and heavy.
It's difficult to blink fast.

Be careful, I think I have heard something strange down that road.
If you go there, think of me.

To your arrival I will be standing on the biggest hill, with a giant flag.

"The eyes overflow in lava.
You need to wipe the lava off, if you want to see what's best for you.
The guaranteed intelligence of the raven makes the tables turn when you begin to understand the reason for the color of its feathers."

Now,
when did he say this, and what does it mean?

I Am Inside The Belly Of A Whale

I was looking for a treasure, a fossil and a hammer.
To escape I have to set fire to your tongue, but the fire lives outside of the whale.
I try to wade, searching for energy underneath this wise son.
A shade moved behind this infinite cavity.

I wonder if you believed what I said: "The ice is melting"
You didn't seem to, you were sliding jokes between covered coughs, but you looked strong, with a western flavor.

A native hero.
And then I understood:

"I've been here before.
Jonah, this is happening again."

You ran towards a sunrise, but Nineveh needs your words.
They need to stop eating ice and this is what you are going to do:
- Spread the right word, but do it with one eye open and
one shut, so they really know what you're talking about.
- Make Cassandra eat her own guts, by playing a gently tune.
- Elevate us with romance and an injury to our hearts.
- Slip, avoiding any logical sense of whatever awaits after the dive.
- Be careful when your diving down, avoiding the teeth.
- Repent when you begin to underestimate this dark view, from outer land.

Come Sky.

Sky, come and make me.
Come true, the sea has anger in his waves.
I have heavy boots but Johnnie laughs like a horse.

His shelter is hidden in Serbia, I don't know why.

The sea indulges this outpour.
All the bets are on Mary,
on blue-eyed Mary.

Straight around, the corners are flooded and I walk still.
I see St. Agnes rubbing a diamond, hoping it turns into a rose.
I begin thinking about Mary.
Where is she today, and what makes her a rose?

Come to see Oswald falling into her bloom, falling into perverse hands
(through the sea and I'm not judging.)

Maybe I have envy, if I have fallen into this puzzle.

To this, your hands are not in the right position.

Your bets make me sad.

She's beautiful and full of grace.

White, well-rounded and well-to-do.

She starts where the white flowers blossom, ends with the wind.

What garnishes her? What is behind all this?

She has said before that she believes in love:

"To your actions I've harden myself, today I turn against the love I feel."

Her tears are white in autumn.

Perfume of Autumn.

And Cinammon Leaves.

Sky, give me answers.

If she's sinless, then what are the odds?

What do you think?

I think she's happier down at the core of the Earth.

Inside a cave of coral reefs, diamonds and icey water.

She's fool. She can indulge her self, with whatever the sea gives her.

Come see the waves hit the sand.

The sand is cold.

Do you miss me?

Like Egyptian carpets that once graced floors

but never seized the skies above all legions.

Gospel Sun

Paul standing at the top of the castle in a tower, reading:

"I love you today.
I'm greedy at this, I want you.
My heart overshadows my thoughts, I don't see well.
I don't care what's ahead.
The road has fog, what do I know?
The valley needs water.
When it's dark I ask for light, in the woods and
inside your heart.
I can browse inside your heart.
What else is eating my body?
The distance,
carbon, courage,
flesh and steel.
Fluids match on top of a Gospel sun.
I can feel if I close my eyes (the sun)
Don't wash your clothes.
I will eat them and
I can deal with
a
dry
mouth."

Traffic Light

You stormed out of the room, an ocean.
You're wanted.

Beyond needing you, I hold on to one memory, cold as Alaska.
The truth is that feathers were supposed to soar at that mountain.

And you stormed out of the room, an ocean.
You're needed.

Before wanting you, or feeling you here, I feel uneasiness.
This voodoo would rather spare some time at the mistress' house.
To play her.
Make her yours but make me mine or make her ours but make me yours as well.

Come closer, Blueberry.
I beg.
Clear this atmosphere.

But wait until it turns red.

Tubular Heart

Steadily, my day ends 'neath the covers and you're elsewhere.
I can't have what I want.
My faith runs under our feet as I begin to see this.
Tubular heart, mind of dust.
You're not laughing, instead you're trying to pour the entire sea into a hole of sand, I wished.

Romina's Essence (cont.)

She whispered: "The voodoo is drowning and the spell is working."
Today it has come forth.

She has played with black magic before.
I see it working but I keep one eye closed.
You're walking with a black cloud and your harvest is unclean.

I smiled, but I don't have a good feeling about this.

Romina's Essence

The Blue River frost opened your eyes, you poured yourself out of bed.
What goes through your mind?
I'm not looking.

You probably did not have breakfast today.
I took my trash outside, too.

Here we work not for food or money, but as you made a promise I
promised I would make one as well.

What is the gypsy lady humming?
"You have white corn around you, a feather dressed as a blade."
By all means she tries to show me you're corrupted but filled with desire, on the same loop over and over. I don't want to pay attention.

You lift your right hand, to lower your other hand backwards.
Your left hand hides from view and I pretend I didn't see this.

She has hidden a voodoo doll inside a vase filled with Romina's Essence:
blue saffron, thyme and rosemary.

I don't need to like you.
But let's wait for the words to arrive inland.
Meanwhile let's analyze how much of a betrayal is this.
Are Montana's mountains bumping with skyscrapers yet?


Everything is packed but the suitcase is hidden.

Why

Father, as the day begins to wipe its tears I look everywhere for the answer.
Why do you hate me?
if my hands tremble
if I blink in front of your eyes

The grass is green today, for me.
Don't look at the clouds, your heart is not in the right place yet.

Life has its heavy eyelids on me.
You were different, I remember.
Your galaxy ends in euphoria where mine begins.
Where are you?

Mother is suffering.
My thoughts are deep in a hole.
Today I'm frightened.
I thought I would celebrate life,

instead I find myself wiping tears again.

How To

How to get you?
I'm waiting for you to get cheaper.

You're a tough cookie, there's a ghost in your cloud where I can't enter.
Sometimes you hide the light of the moon, and the lake doesn't sing as beautiful anymore.
I don't believe in this darkness.

You need to run away from yourself.
I ran when I looked at the architecture of your soul.

Disappointment meets our eyes.
And the wolves bark at the moon.

Untitled 4

"Because you never forget people on this coast, Rose.
And some people never forget.

I'm sitting on a chair today, but the water was cold that day.
My thoughts intertwined with the grass of June.

The radio played
"In The Springtime of His Voodoo"

A foreshadow.
But I don't need to talk about that day.
Where's the heat I deserve?
In the spring.
Out of reach.
I want you to open my brain and senses, convulsively."

Carve

You need to carve this on a rock:

"Let them know that it's a law.
Even on blue waters.
The cold will not catch your body
If I play the wind."


Sing it any way you want.
Their ears will bleed.

Moon, March.

I remember.


March.
On the bodies, mythology.
The cards swayed.

A balmy forest.

As I write I begin to shiver.
Mary and her Child, locked in bloom.

Dry love,
the tactic of your birds (hands)

Those days.

The Various Faces of Texas

I was not driving, but on the road I saw a sign:

The Various Faces Of Texas

It grew dead plants around it, brushing on the gruesome side of the road.

Why did the title stuck in my head is not important today,
but what has come to mind in the following days is.

You summoned The Lone Star's Desire, from outside of your cave.
I have come to see I have moved mountains for you to blossom your desire into a black hole.

"and deep down into Silvia's Firmament."
-you bestowed towards the road-

Who's to care if I revolve around a movement of sand and yellowish lies that wraps around me, everyday?
I am not from your movement, and for that you are removing your own flag from independence.

There are quite a few flaws around here,
but you can see me building a spike tree, to save your own life.

"an apple is being thrown towards Silvia's firmament."

How could you be so sure?
The graces are overflowing in this room.
Let's move to the other one, Furthest West.

Convexo-Concave

Before you do it, make sure your variegated thoughts can leave a mark.
You explain. "I do as I'm told."

India,
France.
Welcome, you are in peace now.

Go and cast the water like a snake would, holding a stick up-in-the-air.
Beef and sweat to make the water unclean.

But as you raised your mouth to the sky, you said the following:
"For the waters to remain unclean, you need to cut the skin of the snake first."

What does that mean?
At the end you are
Convex on one side,
Concave on the other.

1

________________________
You're drinking the sound again.


___________________________________________......__________
I opened the morning through the window. The grass is not blue but there are
layers of clouds with free spirits.

The mountains have woken with cranberry whippings, and the apples are:

a) not leaking
b) not in the ground.

So, where are they?
I stand firmly on the inside, staring at the blue remaining above.
Where is this leading?
Towards peace?

From the sun the door fell today and the pen and pages swallowed the great blue sky
Your thin lines and pagan manners were carved on stone, the tribe allowing this, being sold for food.

There are two sides to each story, this has been proved and the process was not fulfilling.
This is where the light strikes the truth:

You adopted a somewhat timid position, not that I mind.
But we can't hold a flag together against repression, if you want it to happen.
Your side has the devil's access, so go and be wise again.
From the other side, where trees drown in their own roots.

I have another side, that shoves gifts upon my threshold without wanting to, everyday.
This is where we shine.
But I have to break the bad news, there, a twist.

If the notes are played correctly, we can work a scale that will make those girls leak, that will make the wood break.
But if not, then we will not only lose time. I will, then, have tainted your momma's gown in your name.

It's the acoustic shock,
the pinching of the nerve,
the biting of the lip,
the thought I thought would make you cringe.

What do you have to say in defense?
The honors have been handed.

Our Thursday, This.

Here's a thought: Had this been a true story, I would not be sitting here today.

Lenghty, thursday night. The masks are off and the choir puts itself in place.
The clock pushed the tempo up, alongside with my temper as I couldn't manage to sweeten the room, your marks were missing and I couldn't tell why.

Slow and heavy as they were, the sour hours were dragging themselves into the room.
They try but they can't make a better world.

I easily breathed along with the choir, clapped the possibilities away.
Curtain call, goodbye.
But to say goodbye is to open another world of possibilities, nevertheless you came seeking the Rainy Voices and their Rage, to my surprise! as my fists loosened and to the wink of an eye that brought back the curtains to the light.

What happened from that moment to where we stand now?
There is more dust here than anywhere.

As your usual easily-driven you, did not say a word.
Still I read the disappointment you were conceiving, in natural ways.

You said: "I wouldn't mistake this."
I knocked on white wood.

The tables were not turned for us, rather switched roles for themselves in a sacred dance we couldn't keep track of.
What does this mean? The magic was softening our brains, up there and down to the shoes.

We may be sitting next to each other but we're separated as we try to find the affective words that pull us by miles from an ambiguous wave.
You opened The Book of Women but it seems this inadvertently stabs our fingers in dispassion.

I thought we had what we needed.
This is a good one:

At your moment you had it all.

Same here.

And the betrayal was feeding from this, we knew because we've been here before.

I began to realize that you were taunting the degrees of separation, working them with your fingers you managed to hide your anger in a proper way, giving her a risky blessing under Bethlehem's range.
She had a pepper smile and bounced back the blessing, this time in Mary's name.

But on the other side she would be arguing in a fever glow.
But that is what you need, and you will have it whole.

I created the moon and from your New Yorky eyes you barked at the night.
Outside of the chamber we walked to a westland.
You conquered both the bones and the brain.

From here until Sunday.

Have Her

(If you're going to) Have her aroused, do it on a mountain.
Do her whole, short and sweet.
Disguise your anger today and bend her three-quarters down on the floor.
As enough of a woman that she is, she would want it.
Her rosary falls down to the floor as she bites from the tree.

You have made her a woman.
But she would not want this for the following days, hold it inside.

Lament (White)

Now defeated,
to valleys that have overflown within the impossible hour.
I will follow.

Briefly
settled. Almost through the nose and down to this valley in forbidden hardenings.

"It has become pale"

They will be lucky to reach your unreasonable heart.
Down-a-scale but I watch your words
I argue with your unreasonable heart.
When cold as snow
Not looking sideways: "The sun suits you"

How to work a twist, rubbing your head the wrong way

You are soaked in the sun.
I can't help but wonder if your fossils were once sweet when
drawn into light-years.
In blossom.
Towards an abysmal descent within frames of frozen drops in the air,
falling down to a rose that has open white arms, in a firmament.

For The Future

Have it.
Autumn speaks in tongues for the future of ourselves, but I need to look at the past.
There you overfluttered my valley.

The remains are easily forlorn. "A sphinx has been civilized."
The girl returned to your calves.

I was smart, fool.
With you being baptized I was able to unlock the sky.
But further looking I see you faking
as your hands held ice

for a repressed nation.

I try to speak in meaningful twists but rather hoping. You are not nodding.

Irony has
smoked
your
bad
blood
out.
To be able to cry is not to be able to hold back the fear.

You raised a tale, told a tale, decorated.
My money is on the table:

"She probably sucked your life today."

"Is that right?"

Unbreathable Sadness

The candles found their way into dimness.
The light was here earlier, but left with a brownish curl.
I am not thinking.
What a calvary:
I have fallen for wonders that have circles in every corner.

You came to Roseville once, to light my grass.
There were massive boulders that washed away our survival, but we traced a line together.
I taught you.
You hid your rosary but there was not a single drop of guilt in your eyes.
I taught you.
You hid your rosary and the ashes from your tombstone.

Your vain interests are circling over my head, and the truth steadily laughs at your black humor when I begin to realize you don't please me.
How do I manage to have you please me (with yellow-brownish happiness)
having me pleased you before,
ignoring your ravishing, impeccable swagger.
Passionless swager.

Back to the field, to the Calvary.
Who's to know if St. Christopher's blood cells have any advice left.

I moan here. But I remain mute for you.
Solar shields are heading south.
Jesus knows where you stand:

Overseas.

Clockwise

Today "you" is an uneasy word, that easily slips by.
I needed you here, exhausted or bare.

I wander on my own, but you were meant to say something.
I am waiting for the lava to hit the shore, where I stand.

Clockwise.

I am not used to your approaches being brief.
For once the sunflowers are now turning to the other side, not facing the sun.

Plans, Journeys.

These days there seems to be betrayal floating around in our block.
But what do we all conceive as 'justice' ?
You smiled but you hid your past.
As part of your plan.

As part of my plan I can prove there are better ideas on this side,
but you're not stepping out of your game.

/

They carrying a sign that spelled WISDOM was not a true portrayal of wisdom itself.
I did notice, and as I started unraveling their layers I found that WISDOM was BETRAYAL instead.
Do you smell it, Oswald?
The smell is thick and full of hunger.

Do understand that WISDOM is not given to the right people.
But they smile to you, carrying the word of this fake wisdom, and I always knew their past.

To you I say:

I refuse to let you calculate your future.
And I refuse to let the omens find their way to your door.

You are knocking on wood, not so worried.
As if layed in comfy clay.

I will fight for my place.
I will fight for your place, I cannot find me without you.
(The honey is at the tip of your star.)

And I will render the wood for you to knock in.
If it's needed, wanted.

Knots

How to untie this knots I have found
since
several weeks ago.
Well I keep finding knots.

And the key is not to untie them
but to use them as your strength.

Don't think it through because you will smile at the end.

People have crawled, people have smiled.
We will crawl, we will smile.

So, when you need words, I will help you.
Even if I have fourty-thousand knots around.

Don't Change Plans

Don't change plans.
Your cousin holds a swifty knife to the heart.
Swifty talent, holds a sword up and down:

"Don't smile if the sky falls down."

You walked through the woods.
Darken paths, the water was fresh.
At your roots you smiled and said:

"Can you help me now?
I have waited for winter.
I smiled when it came and gave my bread away."

St. Louis out of breath, the words were said.

"Truly?"

"I don't need to say it again"


You will.

To make the story short
we crossed rivers of sand
And your cousin managed to wade through our lane.

Had the devil's eyes, with a sword.
but I didn't back my word:
"If money makes you happy, -here--"

Cousin put an end to it, as he backed up from our lane.
But the end is far from near.

My affection will last today-
if not forever,
and will not
be
pulled
up
by

a stranger.
Who renders

his sacred stones
up to plain view.

Don't change plans.
Even if the birds have been whitened from the grave.

Erased.


On a bleachy well-to-do Sunday.

Adam's Square

Look again, she's waiting for your original signal.
Soviet Mirror, you were so keen to her, call the saviors out!

We don't have a need to see her go, so, "ahead", said the cows and pigs.
Make the sheriff quiver.
Make the brain cry.

I have a Zero Agent that assures Eve longevity but does it while touching the fire of the square.
Eve shows anger and she is handed into your graces, beyond and forgotten.

You can be happily seeking joyfully catching each other's eyes, in vitro.
To have your hands sunk into Eve's ooze.

You chose to bite. Adam easily rejected you.

Cloudy

I will not render my
self.
Until you near your
self.

The rain has said to me, repeatedly: "A word was carried between your lips,

between my grip."

You were smiling yesterday but today you are in the spot in which I have been
many times,
"What do you wonder" I think,
as
your blank stare
speaks volumes
and sadness
my eyes to witness
you
turning your back
against the cold.

Oswald Can Read

In order to jump, you need to foresee the ground you will be landing on.

Amen, Oswald. I swallow my pride for your sake.
I don't know any other ways to say this, and you haven't showed your weaknesses either.
"he won't tell us."

Veronica knew she was stepping on dangerous ground, even before you.
She made a sacrifice, she said, "hoping-the-wheels-wouldn't-turn-on-me."

She climbed and stood on a leash, reading two-sided verses to you:

"Love, our future ends."

today.

The bells swayed themselves, I didn't take part in this but Veronica was a Seamless Bell.
You couldn't tell.
Now you go walking single-handed again, wondering the source of
Veronica Antoinette's dissapointment.

If you'd only knew.

Stay exactly where you are, without claiming whatever you think belongs to you.
Glance to the right, where Veronica lies dead, blaming this on Love.

With such a warm split.
A sunwash of your soul, Oswald.
You need to listen first.

To O.

I raised both arms, holding
at your sky's grip.

At the lament.
Silver lament.

Love amidst us, ties a knot in aquamarine sunrise.

You gave out your black chords. The divine lets itself flow in a curvy shape.
Spare out the even.

Handle the tool so I can carve even deeper.

Salvia 59

"...To truly find what you want, before you want it."
The shaman said, worrysome, and petting the Voodoo Mistress.

But the waters haven't been cleared.
I said: "how much time do I have left?"

(to be able to trick you)
(only if you trick me)

Shaman's mistress lowered a diamond to his hands, unaware that I was watching.

Another line was uttered, below his breath:
"Your handshake is an arachnid. Full of cream to the beholder."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I got closer so I could hear what he was humming.

Both the mistress and the shaman gasped.
The cat screeched and ran.

The mistress said: "Don't near yourself into perilous caves, when sun lures you inside."
She sat down and loosen the grip she had on shaman's forearm.

(to be continued.)

Wichita Stones

Upon the green sea, bigger and plain and up-to-someone-else's-point-of-view.

I am not safe in a corner.
I am not "green grass, touch and tell", if you ever thought I could be.

"There's many miles ahead, but have you ever stopped and looked at the desert?"
I have been asked.

From here my hands are tied, I battle those who I fear. Little Dried Wichita Stones.

Bottled Lava, the sheriff smashing up our future.
Little Dried Wichita Stones, from me and for me, inwards.

Little White Rocks, Marilyn.
But the tender future seemed long gone.

Hard to say, and hard to keep.
Part of those who lack of options, today.
So, help me see the sunrise. A quick glance.

Tomorrow is late, options that would not fit ourselves.

I know the good side of everyone else's soul, but yours.
I need a black cry that can foresee that tomorrow I am going to have my prints at my highest:

"Wichita Stones will not lie at my rocking chair, I say."

Fields

As my place quickly falls apart, I begin to raise questions:

How many truth lies
in what I was taught?
Which of the two sides is the side that's self-praised?

Where do I find my courage?
that, which overflows in them, overflows in you.

You say "run", but "How do I back up my senses?"

William's Widow is shorthanded, but proper for the weather, for I'm working on myself, on you, on life. Now it's safe to say they themselves are a blaspheme.
(Low-graded to bigger eyes, when they reach the sky with their hands.)

To beautify your nickel ocean, I can slip through the stream and darkness.
Blear-eyed, as the northman runs an ax through black wood, and as the ladies of the house bleach their misty eyes with miracles and wonders, the truth that whispers "the unknowable underlines through thick skin", if, and only 'if', you steadily cough embedded against melancholy candles and shoulders that need to be risen. Wind up and taste, half-heartedly. Unto my hands, quiet myrrh, coughed up to the shoulders, forever.

Sun, Follow.

You were interesting.

I was wading in and out.

I happened to embrace cheesy music that day, not at my best.
What's with the weather that helps me figure out things better?

For a while I got lost,
there, in the sun.

My hands shook, but you nimbled your fingers correctly.
I remember, as if I had lost you back there, in the overbearing sun.

But the cold finds its way again.
Upfront like a soldier.

You are interesting today, for me.
As I begin to figure you out.

You leave the door ajar to mock them. I follow.

Untitled 3

Dearest friend:

I am glad to see you have found happiness,
I have yet to achieve it.

I can now accept you were bound to leave for the best.

In this bright blue days know that your food will always be my favorite.

All in all, understand that today is not my day in the sun.
But maybe I'll be next.

We can hope together.

Salt-Of-Lemon

Salt-of-Lemon throws petals everywhere.

"Don't step on the petals, honey."

My hands are tied but you can loosen the bind.

With saliva, as the birds would.

-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'

You can throw petals at this birds but they're choosing to swallow rocks.

And you were careful unwrapping your presents. What did you find?

"I have missed you."

This are days in which we're making dangerous choices.

You were walking as if rain was falling.

As if the birds were no longer there.

As if the

(don't)

word

was never

(don't)

uttered.

A miscarriage of the soul.

As your collarbone is leaking from your marrow

I said "It's not fair."

But what's that? I am hugging air when you lack of it.

I'm saving the rocks, you were once here but who knows what will happen.

The day cried: "Please stay in deep focus, yet sightless."

But Ginger Is.

Almost scary.

You jump out of the water, to catch and swing me around.

This is a trick for balmy eyes, as I see cocktails that carry the word of

fake wisdom that mingles with the chords every once in a while.

I am knocking on wood when the past brings itself over.
But I know my past, Lavander.

And up here I can smell your intentions made of honey at the tip of your star.

But Ginger is moving my heart today and forever, easily just by saying

'I'm here.'

So, Lavander, tell your children I say:

"the weather is not improving, rather my senses are."

After all, you were almost scary.

Today I Don't

Today I don't know many things
such as

how much butter should I spread on this bread?
what makes a man cry?
how come
with eyes
you're still not able to see?

Today I don't need to say 'thank you' when leaves fall.
Today I'm not lesser of a human for seeking possibilities in your eyes.

I don't know many things.

"Why do old women cry?"

Today the world lives the same as I did, as I will.
I am not asking why my eyes are closed today.

I find you to be exactly the same as me.
Seven things I know, for one that I don't.

I know today I opened my eyes
to find I could see the world inside of yours.

The Need

I would chose to live in your stomach but the need is not at your hands,
needless to say the need is not at your eyes.
Then, the joy is not at my tongue, because your skin is not the first thing I see when I open my eyes.

You can do anything, regardless of your beliefs.
Today and forever the stones are moving relentlessly and I bite bricks again.
If GIRL ever nears herself around our street, I will lower a gun at your threshold.

She can go to the other side, where Perpetua bleeds misery.

Soul Wasp

Your sympathy died at my tongue, today your cold at your sunrise.
In my coast I say "Did we?

Stranded, I want your coast to be enraged. To throw the woman outside as your milk finds its way back home,"
because the word slayed the cards we thought had gold.

The monsters are eating from the trees and all the bananas fell.
I find it hard to explain, but the rain is doing all the work for us.
Whilst your banana smell fell short, I crazily wrangled through vast haze, out of my way for your soul.

Is it in your hands?
When you find it hard to explain the rain will find its way back there.
if you have any luck left
if I have any luck left
Who can say I'm not in your thoughts?

"If there's any luck left"

Your soul, I didn't see you in good ways this evening
but your candle up and thrilled said you will know whenever you decide to shoot your masters
with our own Chinaberries, eating from the trees.
Singing: "days that I long."

Soul Loomed

I don't know about you, where your hand meets the eye.
Do extend to your beliefs, as I open my mouth to say whatever you think.
I was safe, I was there at my best.

Does your medicine work?

"But you're not an impostor."

I walked the streets with my language and my native blossoms seven inches above.
Your haze, a light that maybe vanishes (or would chose to stay)

Clemence

I want to say Clemence is the creature you need to save, look out and grab and twist.
The facts were there.
On my tables my heart pounded, miraculously I saw the birds in this twisting blood,
Guts they shared.
Cheap souls, they grabbed the gold, fantastic.

"And unbelievable", I said, myself a honeysucker that does not unveil the possibilities.
Today you won the match, as a surprise our days collided.

Clemence, angel
"But today the gun is easily oiled."

If she's a freak of nature, I will swallow my own words, as the ache would.
On this, your law, I don't crave any manners.
Manners are left, sufficience on your tongue to save the girl that eats from your silver tree.

To Clemence, once a sacrament.
When will the day come?

Days are balmy, and find their way back.
The sin being inland, or not.

Yak Lace

For your bones to hand themselves, wish there would be an accidental potion,
the wish is at my tongue.
Today I'm lured as the natural grace brought you over at '97 and backing your juices up.
I'm stepping on Virginia, for my sake.
You would not, you'd swallow her Paradise.

Here:
I will taste the pavement,
I will praise your genius.
I will throw Brigida under the bus.
Beneath your weather.
Backing up rhymes.

Help me.

Nations are Trapped

The seeds are growing,
the fishes are warm.
Foremost today our sky has been jeopardized.
This clowns have severed limbs.

Mother-of-thousands, barbarian, open-heartedly cries at this war of nerves and we haven't been the same ever since.

"It tasted"

I'm deaf at this craving.
There. sweet. the law.

I want to be able to cry above The Tree Of Oswald.
Elsewhere, crying

at your invisible bottom.

Sharply

"Henceforth what are we?,
when we're thriving in our own greatness, sailing abroad and silky-bellied",
he said.

She said, sharply: "Foremost, we're lovers inwards, inland."

The thought pinched the nerve, scattered.

He grimaced: "Today?"

"Absolutely."

"Everywhere?"

"And back again," she said. "How in this world? Did I ever differ?"

"You are right", he recoiled.

As she moved left, she slid the gun in the second bottom drawer.

Salad Days

(These are difficult times ahead of us.)

The sound is short, but vital.

"You're in a coma", I moved across the room.

"How can I pay you?" (In another world)

Do you hear the lament, apricot?

"The bloom of youth, at the top of your skin."

I can whisper to save myself, if diamonds are all you need.

I expect your skin today. And beyond meadows.

A Good Leg

"Careful, at Alaska's Bar.
Don't get too involved with these beautiful dolphins" she said,
gliding disguised in half-strained epilepsy.

Words were craving desire, now and then.
Try to bundle-off, you will roll smoothly off our tongues, the saints are at ease but forlorn.

"The mud's been building up and you go and watch your step." (as a foreshadow)

"Oswald has a navel", I bestowed.
Way deep inside of this horizon I am beginning to see the outcome.

As she whispered "move left", you steadily put all your money on the thief, confident.

It was not a wise move and today we all see.
All the same, you 'were' a good leg to back up on.

The Alley's Scent

As of today and forever!
(rushed stones)
All future being swallowed and at each others' sunrise.

"You' d be surprised if salt was to be traded for this." I thought.
As a stain fell, you quickly removed it.

Butter fell all over this Caesar, not to my surprise, but the burdens together (kindly) are at intercourse,
to bind up ascending with Reaching Hands,
crying "to burn the midnight oil."

"Today" as a word you manage to twist, as a revolutionary.
Your inventions are at ease, the lesser of your qualities.
And there I stood wondering what color you were supposed to be today.

"In and out" she grimaced.

You had always thought her codes were valid somehow, I did as well.
A wild lady jumped: "Come running, I have bled-out of my greatness and I believe I can be filled again."
DOWN ON YOUR CALVES before you can savor this sandcat.
I don't need any witness here to prove that Elaine's fire has been dragged around the coast, and that means every sharp-shooter has stepped in her it.
Oswald,
we will give Elaine the benefit of the doubt, even if she has not learned yet.
And we will give ourselves full time, "to valid ourselves", the saints said.

Now, is that salt on your arm?
Impeccable.

Rosemary is Sacred

You picked up the phone and whispered:

"Rosemary is sacred."

.

and waited.
You left the phone aside.

What's that in Ro's hands? Epilepsy.
In this manner: coming-to-town, feeding her lava body, with a verb in her mouth she tries to whisper "do it again" but fails.

She needs to be put aside as well.
But (out of necessity) you couldn't forget what she said and how she looked,
and that "Beauty of the Curves" crap.

"Try to think of her as the Hooker-of-misfortune"
Leticia said, cards up-in-the-table.

We left Bureau of Customs and we headed north.
You insisted and I insisted "the devil was at Rosemary's grave that evening."
You nodded whilst I though you were turquoise then, today you are green oil.
But you didn't trust the friend that I am.

Nuclear, the words swayed and formed the following:

"Nuclear, belly-upped children are lining up with foreshadows in their black little hands."

.

"This is the city, we have arrived" I said.
You didn't go there just to return untested, that was clear.
As the bed spoke in tongues, we sat outside in plain dark, near Delaware's View.

We started reading a book called "Inside The Hands Of Rosemary Steam"

"But" was the former word. A douche, but a saint she was.

Oswald

Oswald, there's a dead end around the corner.
But it's soft, as the bird that whispered "Brigida's murder", as the time ran to hide.

I don't see it bright,
and how much time have we wasted?

"This would work whenever the moon let a white shade underneath your shoes"

Let the left light work itself a white shade that once left our houses, through the chimneys and way up.

To ran,
to seize the word we both shared.