The Indian carrying a dead child

Growing over the earth, indians of mystic eyes, the fire of our bones, to carry the skeleton of the dead child in our arms is to give it back to the fire of our dreams, magic spirit of beast shall bring back the dying green grass red in ecstasy of mourning, the soil, where the dead corpses of our fathers were once children too.

 

***

 

 

 

The killing

Unwritten poem showing the dead rope of aloofness naked street of youth knowing wild rage of stormy eyes the weather of childhood shall  know the attitude of the saint in his bellowing awarness of death we walk barefoot on top of madworld not seeing who we are killing stallion and breathing on ongoing savagery in yellow brains our cissors cutting through space thoughts into pieces like images gliding onto solitudes.

 

 

****

Seams

 

 

Shall i turn the child of scar
in the hopelessness season
crying among the stones
my drying reason,

burning marrow of the body
spite of the growing mud
on stars never to be born
revealing bud,

our churning bellowing disease
the childness that wounds dreams
i can’t escape murder on those leaves
but rings of seams.

 

*****

 

Hell


Tearing bloody wind
on the crust of hell
left
sidewise of the bed
the splitting of my ribs
a body left aside
tinkling tips of eyes
resent what’s low of tide
should place
between your hands
the neklace of the dead.



*****

The Birds


Days of death
the crowning of the future
telling the blood of the pain
like open mouths on my hands
calling the fortitude of glory
and the sadness of drowning with myself
when birds of dust
fly above my head
spots of spit
left on a wall
which look like stars
for the mummies.



******



The Blade

Renouncement to say
a blade at heart so grey
to see my life adrift
should hopelessness just lift.

My silence comes and goes
celebration of woes
like flatness on this ground
where graves are lost and found.

From right to left a strife
like selfishness retrieve
when stabbing is the knife
the steelness of the soul

when left alone in life
redeem what i did give
of love when was to fall
my head into a bowl.

******

 

Time is dead

Echoes my loneliness in the solitude of a child
i peel off my skin like from an orange
the pulp and the flesh mixed up with my blood
and the brain like golden orb in my head;

and suddenly it rolls down the hill of a bone
where i met my father's ghost on the high road,
with the meat of his wound lying in my belly
i could hear his voice crying in the fire;

when sweating the flames send flashes on those walls,
reflections of erased paintings,
the portrait of the dead, i stay there,
mixing ancient and recent days,

i overflow out of my own body
to stay invisible.




*********




ON A ROAD


Obscenity of life and death
to be but without breath
the loneliness of a dog
while waiting in a throb.

The way to measure the pleasure
of knowing oneself at leisure
rhyming words like dead footseps
flexing one’s biceps.

The coming along the moors
winding slowly by the grooves
to stop at the end of a pier
dying of sole desire.

I’ve been in solitude many a time
giving away instants so fine
that to forgo such a moment
i should have remained silent,

but unable to live like so
i will in a instant go
seeking myself among the crowd
and slowly fading on this road.









*******










SACRIFICE



Shroud of the self
the instant glares
inflection parting
it depairs.

Grace of forth
act of froth
signing still
willing to fill

up
this glass
a brim
of light

breaking through the vastness of the flight
draining it down to this plight.











*****











JULIA



Up the gain
slowly withdrawn
like light must spray
on a gown.

Put out the light
in arc of white
the slow disdain
of the pain.

Match mind and hand
unlock the sand
take off the mouth
the spite of breath.

I will forsee
coming this dame
a challenge be
inside the flame.

Relentlessness
a grace that passed
with the holiness
of your past.















*******











Julia2




Extracting joy
my sole solace
of time the ploy
but to embrace.

Exhausting fear
the other end
but just so near
of what you mend.

A cloud of dust
to sanctify
the love of lust
as you cry.

Are you still dead?
i see you stiff
with feet of lead
as by whiff

of thought
your face is erased,
on board of nought
this light deceased.







******








Julia 3







Cutting off my hand,
out of ground i reach out for your heels,
ankles of no sound,
when the shroud of the shade foretells no name
taming the beast of our blood
we’re walking through the sun;
the darkness in our bellies
betraying no future,
the swelling of the veins in our brain
conveying thoughts of steel.
Watching you, i see a lip parting from a jaw
with hanging mouth loosing my words,
sewed teeth shall cry no more
but whisper gently through my wounds.






*******





Julia 4




Open the mouth in the ring of murk
the ugliness of the wise
where easy clouds on air should fall,
in the splendour of dying
there should be redemption.

The living beast must come out of the grave
forgetting to be lost
on paths never tread by we walk
and high strung are our nerves of rope
when we start climbing up our bones.

The spine of the man ignoring his own fear
the cradle of his hate,
i should swap spit for poison,
giving aways my sinew and my blood
i should pretend shyness to be strong,

oblivion to keep quiet,
and stay still forever like a statue made of flesh.







*******



Julia 5 (after love)





Tell her the man of my pain in a fleshy fog,
where under bright stars we will split the winds,
her feet never touching the blessed ground
her eyes reflecting the shades and the reflections
of strange shapes in blurred mirrors.

The waking and the coming are twins for us,
we have lit the graves in the yards
dwelling under mossy stones
our lips parting and then joined again
our limbs entangled tentacles of the fools.

Carrying charred corpses in our minds
we forget that we are alive and we die
only in dreams, circling in muddy pools,
we live in death swift and light, vivid like corpses
arisen again from the past.










********









Julia speaks





Bury my chances in a heart of flint
when coming from the womb i find the spark
open like a mouth ready to swallow up my tongue.
The time in heart should forgive us the cry
of sinews slipping down bloody throats.

Pining for beauty i find the roofless house
grinding firecrackers out of hands
giving away fingers crawlings down as worms
up the tunnels of our veins
to the violet lumbs which are spread out in the sky.

There we float as the restless clouds
of eastern Paris in melodies of hues
the canvases hung high on walls
are open up like myriads of windows
showing sceneries of never ending alleys.

Your eyes in their sockets
redeem the vastness of my fantasies
your ears only echoing
the weeping of our bodies
like the slow dying of rolled mummies in white sheets.








********







The Seer




Gliding on ocean of ice through transfixed eye
open the mouth of the shark and drown in it,
the cloud on the mirror shows another landscape
where the motley animals abide.

Your beckoning sorrow in the furrows
where old weels passing by leave the essence
of foregone trolleys full of treasures
carrying floating faces down windy roads.

I shall take the fleece of the golden lion
and dressed in it walk through the desert
with only one song in my head
crazy as the woebegone madman,

i see the future in your hands
traced like those aery dunes
i see joy and sorrow mixed in cries
singing raging tunes

under those cloudy skies.






****



Julia’s death



Segregation of night and day
to sleep naked as in a dream
to see of the light the beam
to say hanging up on a ray.

To swallow time and to spit pain
to regret what you have just said
to be a statue in the rain
to remain deaf, mute and afraid.

To swim up the river of your mind
is to catch up with the madness
to hear your closed fists as they grind
and to survive in but recess.

I should walk up the horizons
and forget you and stay alone
i should live just by the seasons
a seamless bone.


****



The Pyre



Dreaming alone in the everlasting bloodshed
dying in the grave of the truth
circumvents the legless shape
desire to be lost.
Or seeing behind the limping doll,
the human being like a liquid shadow
bleeding down a sink,
I, going astray through the maze of mindless fire,
rejoy in the kindling of the pyre,
to die like a blazing stone thrown away
in this furious night of madness and desire.













********

The mind