The Solitude of We

The Solitude of We

In this everlasting summer’s

land, I look over the rocks and sea, only to become filaments of my own tabular meanings

Despair is a letter we’ve written

So often forgotten, so often echoed through

Ocean tides, sunken gardens

In solitude

we breathe in

in-between as I swallow in, then out, my hunger of you slithering the creek under a gravity tar zone, where faith deplumes its nihilist words with butterfat-flies, tomorrow

I shall pray for a raise of

latitude

Today, we languish.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Aiming at Peace

Aiming at Peace

First he got tired
of talking to people, becoming dumb.

Then, devoured by voices his brain
gave up listening.

People around him
kept trying communication, touching, gesturing
sending emotional vibes.

Uselessly; he was no more than a dead stone,
the man that aimed at peace.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Not That Man

Not That Man

After digging squares of alien existence, simulating a mechanical journey, driven between green meadows, cattle and orange concrete juice, he realized the place
simply
was not fit for his dying.

Delicious, forbidden hours
were left
neglected behind practical, functional, time framed issues.
Every insignificant detail was taken care of, smoothly, planned in advance, beyond a rising midnight sun or a technical orgy. But for him, only one thing mattered:
No place is good for a living if it ain't  worth to die in.

The air needs space! blue and green space need real earth, the sort you get your hands dirty with, to
breathe and die all year round.

I found one such place                    but I am not that man.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Nonsense

Nonsense

The temperature
between us unfolds links
of heart biology.

As we become nested
in human straw
my skin the ground for your soul’s
subduction, I realize
everything is a distortion of time
and reality a playground for
nonsense.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Paralyzing Emotions

Paralyzing Emotions

I've burst every bridge standing

proud, ahead of me

still the memory of the blast

filling each drop of my invisible

sweat, the fear hides beneath

my bed, lets me fall a sleep

rejoice like a baby, in the fold of a sec

just to stir me up, buzzing as hell

in awareness, splinters later

There's no real solution

because I make my own ['utions]

and don't believe strangers' formulas

more than ads, priests or violins

behind phones aiming at your

moment of weakness

I've quit my own stories

dear you, embedder of fate

disciple of paralyzing emotions

pull yourself together

let's face the beast

But I've ruined every brick

sheltering my ego

rotten soil sealing the deal

I never agreed on.

Damn you're so whisky!

so vain, purple, blighted

as an idiot hiding within cerulean

blues, waiting for him to come

to laugh in disdain, loud and stupid

the opposite of me

of my personality; I had some hope

once... remember? my eyes got dimmed

vision                and so I thought others did too.

Distinctness was an injury

I keep the promise to myself

not being Godot, I exist!

Why shall I not overcome

my fear?

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Fragile Fingers

Fragile

fingers, submerging thoughts

mine

long enough to cuddle one’s dance by

the vertical                         axis

pressed famine veins’ lust

draining my hand at

6 o’clock, the blood

inverted direction

causing a disemboguement recess

around the meaning of

pleasure, never to be

fulfilled;

her gasping fingers roll

over my forehead

climbing latitudes

now

as I measure their slenderness

with the touch

of tropics

echoing in the limber voices

jamming between us

now

just fingers

bathing their folds

under the bless of a full

white moon.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho