my hands roam numb at night
my worries rage blind
at lunch-hour, stuck in the traffic
do you really need me
to go through the whole list?

nevermind, doctor
i’ll start again

it’s just that sometimes
we get creutzfeldt
after turning vegetarian,
and we don’t rejoyce
of child-birth, as much
as we cry at funerals:
basically, we’ve lost touch
and taste and the courage
of writing obscene poems
on public bathrooms’ doors;
we’ve seen it all, we’re not
impressed — these shallow
waters get thicker, but yeah
we’re ready for the end
and all the following ones

i hope this is hard enough
to compensate my whispers

i wonder

“the streets outside
wear these curtains
as bride-to-be veils”

i think with my pupils, still naked;
and the beat in my head, on the pillow
is just heart, crazy sun cutting off black sky
as the room itself shifts in her sheets
of darkness, ink-shadows left in the corners
by my heartsun, going on and off
as it drums on thunderbolt-memories,
a throbbing tropical storm, seaquake of fire

this desert, right here on the pillow,
will keep rusting away
for the next five billion years
when i’m sand, and you’re all still stars;
it is so sad to think i’ll be the only one
knowing — not comforting you

and the trees? we are tired to count
all of the silences of the world,
on the tip of our fingers
and tongues, we tried
to stand you, and all the other
cheerful telegram faces of the world

and the ocean? we slowly learned
to cross, hand in hand and cursing,
swearing we won’t look back
this time, dynamite-love, picasso
renoir, sand-love, the moon and sleep
(you don’t call my real name)
make a promise, sing a lullaby
in which “never” is enough
and every door stays closed
behind us: just eucalyptus leaves
then hand in hand and running,
along with the seaside, wild
and fast, graceful, faster than this,
again, again, punches and twirls

the colours of these days
in the maze of madness
and bath-tubs, ballrooms, bedrooms
these days on the road, a kiss
the pursuit of what we already have;
we’ll keep meeting, maybe in beirut
but i will not forgive you, i will
not cry, i will just exist
not, and cleanse
my head with the sky

there’s no point in feeling
small, before the universe
real tragedy, the triviality
of what can destroy us

bombs in boston
tombs in bombay
— have you bought
your electronic cigarette yet?
bregovic on the stereo
of the boy who’s taking me home,
calcium deficiency in polka-dots
lost korean gurus in rainy euro towns;
greek police photoshopping mug-shots
and teenage kicks can hardly beat
— i witness an empty debate in some empty 
indie theater, the kids don’t know 
anything about kaurismaki;
there are centerfolds on medical
magazines, with swollen limbs
and censored gazes (how would you feel)
with a ribcage which is 3 sizes larger
with cat-eyes, and a cat-cry — you have:
not enough change for the coin-laundry
not enough wind to chit-chat about,
i am: not enough passionate to starve
not enough visceral to pretend
to know who to be — well at least
aware of the flutter of my lashes 
against the pillow, the sound of a blind moth
struggling in her pathetic cage
— will you get in any bar-fights tonight?
are you wishing for an everlasting
drought in my eyes? i feel sick anyway;
and if i were to measure our distance in blocks
and clouds, would kilometres shrink?
yes, i’m breaking a fever, extremely
out of time, war isn’t over anywhere

one thinks it’s the shape
no, wait: perhaps the weight
the height, perimeter, the resistence
— people make promises to themselves
“i’ll choose to choose beauty,
and everytime ignore the details;
the details never add up to the infinite”

the eyes of the one you love ‘til nuthouse
won’t ever blind you enough, they won’t
make your heart stop, suck up your guts
and wash them down with lust, anxiety
doesn’t exist if you know where you are

it’s always been light, sunbeams are
essence, absence, day marrow, dayspair
things always look mangled at dusk

when night folds on herself
i am nothing

the waves, below me
are flesh black and alive
boiling hot, bubbling slow
in its own sanguine
gold, and in the blood
of its lights
of its abyss

waves, dense and light
curling in the
inconsistent pain
lighting down the eye
of the beholder

sparkling, blinding
the sea and its sands
the waves as dunes
of a desert deep
and wild, inside me

mind 010101
101010 runs
derails, desperate
demented - loses
track of the time
leaping, almost 
falling over 
absent goodbyes,
french-leavings
monsoon tears:
i think of you
a lot, i do not
think at all

find someone who loves you
and let them stay the afternoon
until you change their minds

these pavements run for hours,
endless, and care about no crack
a black and blue face, crumpled
by two billions of restless fingertips:
yours — this is the bill to give in
for winning gravity at 7 pm,
after the storm, when the evening
is deep-fried in surrender
and blasting horns, and our stars
are just lime neon lights, atop
of the hotel millenium, watercoloring
embarrassingly dirty mirrors, fallen
from a cloud: and here’s the check,
here’s the white flag, this could be
your dancefloor, your altar
but apparently, love, love’s active
principles can’t keep you going forever
and also, it turns out that nightmares
are real (no way to open up your eyes
when you’re already awake)

i should be anywhere but here