IMMORTAL BLUES

Tonight my mind has a belly,
red wires cover my eyes,
Bourbon slays my breath,
and the numbness in my nose
seems to breathe, through my soul,
as smoke puts a chokehold
on my chest.

I can feel myself falling
into this voided rhythm
called night.
Like an orphan echo,
bouncing off the edges
of some hardship tunes.
Alone in my apartment,
I sway though the piano
and moan over the sax,
while some dead singer
pokes
at my youthful decrepitude.

DOWNTOWN LOVE

As we sleep like wounded angels,
fallen angels,
the shadow of romance
embraces us
with the wicked tenderness
of its claws
trying to rip some love
out of the night within us.

Then, she pulls up the shades,
and I start walking away,
wondering if this kind of loving
is even worth forgiving.

And as I promise myself
that I'm not coming back,
I see her posing by the door
telling me with dreamy eyes,
that this game is just beginning.

I could already hear
those violins approaching,
aiming at the walls
of my beaten heart.

But I just love
to face the music,
when I'm with a flower
that knows how to tear it apart.

THE SAVAGE WITHIN

Your graceful manners

and the ease of your
delicate moves,

Your soft voice
and the innocence
within your eyes,

lies!

They will vanish,
to my delight,
when we
make love
like animals
Tonight.

A SLAP FROM THE PAST

I was walking down the street
when a woman
suddenly stopped in front of me and screamed
"Well, if it isn't Mister Fuck!"
I pointed at myself asking,
"Who me?"
"Yeah, you!"
"Oh."
"You don't remember, do you?"
"no, I don't, I said.

She just stood there
and stared at me for
about ten eternal seconds
and then started to walk away,
but before she could take
the second step,
she turned around,
and slightly spitting on my face,
she screamed, "you're an ASSHOLE."

I kept going
feeling strange about this
encounter until a block later,
when I remembered her,
and realized, that,
I had to give credit
to her last words.

WHEN I DREAM

When I dream,
it's like taking an express trip
with no back doors.

When I wake up,
there are so many exits,
that I don't know where
to get off.

ALMOST MADNESS

Sometimes you let go,
and the room becomes smaller,
and your heart beat longer,
silence becomes
the audible music of fear,
the fear of madness,
everything wrongfully placed,
a world worth shit
but you say,
looking around
wondering
thinking abut giving in
and suddenly,
you capture yourself,
and say
Fuck it, it's bad enough,
why go crazy.

BAD HABBITS

During the night,
stitches are woven
throughout the soul
that same soul that wanders
into the morning.
very much
the wounded survivor
with an itch
that screams for more
and a craving with no fingernails.

BOTTOMS UP

I always had this idea
that if I got low enough
to hit a bottom,
a revelation of some sort
would give me the balls
to bounce back harder.

But it seems that on my way down
my balls become plump,
begin to hang
full of comfortable defeat.

Now as I look up,
my aspirations seem to
swirl madly
back down on me.

All my dreams draining
in a dirty sink
that I filled up with promises.

NOTORIOUS

Everybody likes him
when he comes
walking down
the morning streets
solid and fresh.

Everybody likes him
stumbling drunk
with his red
crying eyes
rushing
the night
within him,

Only to find him
a few hours later
laughing
and surrounded
by listeners.

Everybody
that loves him
still wonder
why he does it.

Why is it
that morning
after morning,
behind his
sunglasses,
clean shave
and slick hair
he walks down
the morning streets
pretending to be
so solid
and fresh
when everybody
that knows him
can smell

the wasted dragon
in his breath.

Everybody likes him
Except for those
Who love him

SUCKERANALYSIS

Just
call me
a sucker
or a Freudian,
as I mother
this obsession
of wanting
to make
the love
against me,
mine.

THE SCENE

4:00 am
she tells me:
I wanna make a salad.

With her ass twisted
to the side for support,
she starts chopping
a head of lettuce,
like an assassin
wasted and beautiful,
that lives head on,
bitchin' at life.

That's why I love her,
she doesn't seem to give a damn,
Of course,
I'm drunk too,
and like her,
I bitch
and don't give a shit either.

NIGHTLY DOG

Resting his handsome banner
over the abyss of the bar,
with his nightclub pose
he scans the smoky panorama
of red lips and crossed legs
that jump out of the chiaroscuro scene.
Biting the beat
he slides in,
sneaking incisive
between the swaying
of some unsuspecting legs,
justifying his moves
with the saxophone's call
for the smoothness in the waist,
and in the words,
words
that will become howls,
in an unknown room,
within the damp sheets
that will fly like clouds
over the limbo memories of dawn.

That's when you can see him,
passing by your house
when you go to work.
Drained, and not so handsome anymore,
rolling up his sleeves
as he walks astray down the street.

DRUNKEN LOVERS

She could drink with me
until our insides broke,
tearing down the night
with our wild laughter,
stampeding despair
as we trampled our minds
beyond repair.

We were in love
and we came together
like two tears
left over from trust.
Unwillingly guilty
until the first drink,
serving our sentence of passion
night after night,
with the uncontrollable desires
of our desperate lives.

Always trying to break into tomorrow
with the pains of our hopes,
and the rhetoric of the dreams
that haunted us.

CITY BOY

Camp fires
are part of
an order,
a discipline
a pragmatic
approach
towards survival.
Light and warmth
extinguished
until needed again.

But
I'm a city boy
surrounded
by a wildfire
that glows metaphors.

Around here
being practical
and organized
only
spoils
passion.

NOCTURNAL BEAST

In the night
thick with fermented voices,
grave tobacco throats,
meltdown eyes,
and slow jukebox melodies.

The nocturnal beasts,
prowlers of pleasure,
roam in sexual circle,
coming together
like delinquents of love,
on corners,
or in rented rooms.

Passionately risking all,
for the sake of lust
until the break of dawn.

Then they awake,
as strangers
with sour tongues,
ready to forget,
in morning cabs
and tragic buses,
dispersing
to await
darkness.

SMOOTH TALK

Words cruise
my lips,
with sweet whispers
your ears
ride my thoughts.
Can you listen
to the music
of my mind,
making out
in you
parking lot?

PLEASURE FACE

I got under her,
and with my knees,
pressed against this earth,
I licked heaven and hell,
lapping hot wet
as her torso danced on my lips.

Her pleasure my wings,
and we soared into each other,
flying,
until
my neck hurt.

WAITING FOR MYSELF

Here I am

surrounding my thoughts

with the needs of my heart,

plowing the fields

of my soul,

trying in vain to cultivate

a purpose that will

bring me closer

to my humanity.

But I live these days,

trapped between

the bloody eyed mornings

of my screaming youth,

and the vision of a mind,

collapsing under the weight

of lost ideals.

Like a heartbeat on hold, 

I live these days,

spiritually unemployed

hanging out on dream corners,

waiting for myself.