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We skate

hand in hand

knowing that if we let go,

we will slip and fall down

and not knowing 

if we will get up again.

Hold me tighter

and don't ever let me go

and let your "forever" really be forever.

I think.

But forever is a long time

and maybe by the time it has passed

we will be tired of each other

and you will realize at last

that I really am who I say I am--

boring and selfish and desperate for attention--

and not your lovely mask of perfection.

Or maybe you will see

but you will still love me?

Still care for me--

is it possible?

I want to believe.

Vaulted spikes in the city - square coats and block shapes;
In the morning the cafe fills with cubes,
We gather like broken glass to watch the tele.
Everything alters: a shape on the page
And the page turns; a new year; a new tome
Of history, and common sense bursts through the wall.

Loneliness is watching the glasses turn and be put away
And glitter in the gold light, and the dance
Of shapes behind the bar, the lean bartenders, the shake
Of silver fire; the mistakes we make, the golden slug
Of error; the frames of our redemption, stained wood.
I promised I would work and not think; I promised I'd be strong
In metaphor, not selfhood, and beyond.
Now it starts: the glow of future fires; and the wall
Throbs with a shallow hum underlain by hurt
And endurance. Trails of smoke in a glass.
Someday the door will burst open and reveal us.
A fierce shine will burn away the veils.
And all of us in comedy and greatness will emerge
Burned thin as wheat and as golden, sheaves
Of terrible innocence. We will be hidden enough to see.

Here is the number on the door: Open to me!
For I am thin as wheat and as golden,
Broken and burned away to my core.
Through me the world shines in, and the grey
Pavement sports a shine, and trails forth forever.
Come with me! For I will blow you a road
Out of grain, and as golden, flourishing
And fertile, with a thousand sights to either side;
A tourist's road, but only you will trail the guide.
I am yours only, and all will belong at once to you.
Nefertiti in the desert? Touch her face,
She is severe and hard as a queen should be.
Pride is in my face, can you not see?
And all of dignity, and the far plains.

Do not ask me to sleep tonight,

Mr. Moon.

It is far too nice

and life does not stop for sleep.

There is too much to be seen,

to feel, to know,

to waste a single moment of breath!

Let me live, let me love,

and body of mine, don't tell me to stop--

I am too enthralled to rest anyway.

When we all believe that humanity is going to the heaven... succesfully[?]. Working on important things like son-androids and realities that are more real than relality is [suspiciously], making the best garbage for people who wants not to listen music, but wants not to hear nature either. When we feel sinister and living with neoliberals invading all you can see and all you can't see too. Is hard to wake up while listening voices talking about culture and how important is to be smart and become part of a elite which dedicates to recycle old forms of understanding time and space, because they don't want anybody to know anything and they want to be the only ones that owns knowledge.
As if life meant "human". As if we were everlasting. As if we died and life itself would finish...

 [...] i don't hate arabs. and i don't kill them just because it seems like we're better as humans in this half of world thanks to this time machine that we've built for walking "forward". So, in this order, we signify time, re-signify acts and in-signify life.

My soul is bursting tonight.

Oh muse, you have filled me with

a thousand passions

but you have forgotten to give me

the words!

The secrets of love,

of devotion and contentment

and raging, burning, feeling--

I know all!

But I can never tell you

because you do not know

the language of the soul.

you crack the walls
wailing in the kitchen,
a hundred flowers around your head.

who has the last howl,
who has the last howl,

and who will don the furred mask for me?