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sometimes a piece works
sometimes it wroks

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we are what we add up
there are those who lived
there are those who thrived
there are those that will come
there are those none

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first, joe dies
the land's creator
then, dies the land
creator of joes
words will live on
words like guernica

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amazing how things happen as if they don't:
when problems come
i call the children, close the doors
all calm down, i reach the hurricane
in the meek of things, no sores

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hypothetical particle colliding protons
and the illustration of this collision

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an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth
a blind for a blind, toothless and demented
the revenge i harvest is not worth the seed
in this peace that i painfully deny myself

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a monster, frustrated by the full moon
i devour mistakes that make me vile
all this without hunger or instinct, the sky
is taken but I don't feel it, i feel
neither hope for the sprawled, promised sun
- this is the substance of a meaningless life

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i carry a heavy nostalgia
but send you this butterfly by air mail
i'll fly with it
yet i am, nostalgia along
killing time
while time postpones me

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the chicken story is sad but delicious

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hard to remember:
i woke up different - what face is this - human?
i was a goldfish, fuzzy flying wish
who's that pink thing looking at me, anxiously?

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the sad one
sees crying flowers
enormous buttons of pain
in all colors and smells

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unexpected terms
interrupting my thoughts
distract me of time
take me in one second
within and beyond

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i am not what i am
but what i form each day
the sky is still waiting for the sun
and i'm already in the humdrum
of creating a new me

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soon disinterest
will be intense as it should
broad as if it never was
before, and ours and final:
a hug and enjoy

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star year 13,786,667,004,325
thin, tenuous, rarefied
as a fluid or an odor
or words

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death is not much
death just is
toothbrush and pajamas

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for you, my unwary song
and wild rampant passion:
every day a welcome
at each leave bye-byes
all the time the ambush
of your cobalt eyes

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vicious is the nature of violence:
mighty as you try (and you might try)
you'll fail
- no wanna death discovered by stench?
irrational random terror serves you right

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i've got to get to my social grid!

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the gifted need to be left
at peace with pleasure

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slobbering started last friday
tongue and lips fully involved
words just a collection of fluids:
(he who has a horse won't search for the beast!)

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the willow knows of its own misery?
what happens won't last - nor memory
for time is organic and breaks down, fades away
like all that comes along with time

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only who's in the middle of a hurricane
knows the quiet

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the talk is very good but boring

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oh i'm on the other side of the sea
the insect intact in my memory
still walk on my childhood's cement
red
it's the time - not me - that's not dubious
has no hurry with the time that it has

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childhood of man
is the guardian of lost images
fast and smooth rivers
in this concentrated juice of people

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i bloomed sophistication and elegance in three non-rhymes:
- when one side of the face begins, the other is already over
- i remember it all now but spoils still escape me
- my creativity is aggressive and my masterpiece

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a poet will never be enough - not possible
the longing for retribution makes it impracticable
but here we perceive nonsense
beautiful and thousands of them
specially engineered for you

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is easier to be vile
than to forgive evil
the beast within us
forever hurting
is unforgiving

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these new forbidding laws
- a puzzle forms itself -
make us all psychopaths (on cycle paths)
contradictions with no contraindications
citizens of no or so

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we follow sociopaths and get lost in the woods
to wish evil is no good
what do we know of each other's woes?
he who doesn't respect life's value
is worthless

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today, the international day of days
i'm here breathing my phrases
soon it'll be night with no moon
but the word will float

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of our chance meeting
now only dust and smoke
that musk-smelling steam
luck the recurring cause

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the day after tomorrow
- somewhere in that day
at some insignificant, mad
wounded moment
everything will be perfect

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you, dora, gold

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the suicide
that doen't succeed
saves a precious life

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inside the moment:
when i wasn't here
i was coming

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we're the bullies, nuts
but no injection or massage
for us

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the sad truth is the human being

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vamos conversar sobre o tempo
chuva areia poeira -
é disso que nós falamos de novo:
do tempo e de uma vida inteira

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inside my sweet soul
there's a violent punker holding on
but the time stream is quite confusing
but this silence is so warm and cozy

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when people walk out of the cinema as shadows
their enlarged image always becomes an abstract

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my summer was cold fury in all shades of green
in flowers and shapes and infections
with many adventures to tell

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‘lovely view’ said the old woman
still blooming in her garden
'the nerve shots are amazingly painful
in this nice scenery'

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at the dinner rehearsal:
doodles, faces, words, a river
finger pan, car pressure, closed walls
and the bill - let it get old and vanish

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say, stevie:
god is not always good
and love is not always good either
but at least love exists

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probably like the poet staring at the sea
his eyes not blue or deep or salty with tears
but strange, like things that come and go
the malaise, the metaphor

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herstory:
when i’m old and done
and my fever and juice become air, no aim
will i mourn or hang loose?

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