| a lovely day |
It was a lovely day
The sun was smiling in her chest,
the moon was throbbing in her tummy,
the stars were winking in her eyes.
The rain could not touch her skin
for she was surrounded by the devouring magic of angels.
She walked on, on this lovely day,
very dry,
dry was her skin
so cunningly protected,
dry were her cheeks
thanks to the stars.
Her hair danced with the cold wind
which warmed when it sensed her rays,
the rays that streamed out of her flesh.
Birds sang in her ears,
flowers bloomed on her fingers,
colors screamed,
pink, yellow, orange, blue,
colors colored her lips.
It was a lovely day
A black cat turned white
when confronted by her rays,
the rays that streamed out of the stars of her eyes,
the sun echoed in her chest
and she felt a hot energy growling in her toes,
and crawl through her feet, her legs,
her stomach, chest and shoulders,
arms, through her neck,
and up to the stars.
The rain could not reach her,
she was inaccessible
with her smallness.
The cold wind brushed her cheek
and the wind blushed with the sensation.
It was a lovely day
And her cheeks were dry,
and her fingers spread the sweet odor
of newborn flowers.
May 26th, 1998
| she sighed .. |
She rocked the world
with a noble sigh,
her lungs
were filled
with poison,
the wind
passed through her
as if
she were
a lie,
her whole spirit
had been lost
in the reality
of moments,
she saw the unnecessary:
what was,
she saw what should have been:
nothingness.
She walked
humming a soft tune,
she wrote the story
of her woe
on the wings
of the breeze,
she cut her hand
with a look
and continued:
she sighed,
she sang,
she lied…
February 19, 1999
| you are clever |
You are clever,
my lover,
You are remarkable.
You sold my soul to the devil,
put a tumor in my womb,
pumped heroine in my veins
and gave me AIDS.
You plucked my eyes out, my dear,
you made me deaf.
You pulled my nails out, my love,
and burned me with cigarettes.
You raped my best friend,
screwed a woman before my eyes,
and you killed my dog.
You broke my legs, my dear,
and of course my heart.
You drowned me in the sea,
cut my throat open wide,
shot me right in the bosom,
and made me walk on fire.
You tore my ribs, my love,
and of course my dreams.
You did all this with cunning plans,
for which you do deserve an award.
You are clever,
my lover,
but not clever enough.
All through your perfect, ingenious plans
you forgot one small detail:
the insignificant fact
that my mind
is
a magician.
March 8th,1998
| death of the houses |
They're killing
the houses" gasped the little girl,
as bombs smacked the faces
of the houses,
glass got spit out
from the eyes,
chairs, disemboweled,
licked the streets,
and the little girl
could not believe
the amount that death
was devouring,
these bodies
of the soul called "home"
are now
equal to dust,
homes are shattered
with screams of unheard destruction,
the girl cried
and her tear
was the blood
that could not pour
from the veins
of the walls,
those veins which were made
of the material of dreams,
"They're killing" whispered the
little girl,
not knowing what it really meant.
In the quiet street
she could hear
the constant humming
of the spirit
of death
which had just
ever-so-softly
caressed
the houses,
the houses
which lay long and proud
as a mountain
of corpses.
| hold still |
Hold still,
let me look
into the ocean
of your eyes,
let me swim
recklessly
in the depth
of your deepness
one
last
time,
before I start
my journey
to the desert
Hold still,
let me touch
the untamed softness
of your cheek,
let me feel
the misread temples
of your skin,
let me carve it
on the memory
of my fingertips,
for I am off
to carry rocks
Hold still,
I won't say,
"I told you!"
I won't remind you
of my premonitions,
I just want to
look
feel
and swim for the last time,
let me breathe
this air
and carve it
onto the memory
of my lungs
Hold still
for the last time,
time and time again
I said yes
and you protested,
you got upset with me
indignantly
and I stood quiet,
and here it is:
the future has come
and my witchcraft
has held its course -
god, how I hate
to turn out right!
Hold still
for one moment
before I leave,
let me hear
your voice
whispering words
which I will repeat
again
and again
in my ears,
make them soft
and sweet,
decorate them with the past,
throw away streaks of the present,
let me try
to learn
what I shall
later try
to recite;
all the time you said it wouldn't,
god, how I hate to turn out right
June 22nd, 2000
(Athens, Greece)
| before the white wall |
The white wall
blends with your white skin,
beloved,
as you sit on the carpet,
icy blue.
Your silence
is my music,
every inch of you
is a country,
fresh
virgin-
waiting to be discovered.
Don't move,
for each movement
is an earthquake
on my land.
Don't speak
for even you sigh
can blow me out
out of the atmosphere,
shoot me straight into
the heavy emptiness
of space.
One touch can heal
my deepest wound,
but don't -
don't touch me,
the great happiness today
is longing & pain tomorrow,
instead of letting me taste
the wine of bliss
& then snatching the glass,
be kind
be greedy
keep it in your palms,
in your veins,
keep it where you are,
in front of the white wall,
on the carpet
icy blue.
The white of your skin
is milk
to my baby lips,
my newborn eyes
behold & recognize
the drowning depth
of your beauty.
Your warmth
is that of the womb,
so say nothing
for your silence
is my music-
your breath
is my heartbeat.
Oct. 23, '98
