That he could be I

These radio guys, just don't know any more what they shall say...

they clog them selves and us, shamelessly

they garrotte us, they cloy us

with useless transgenic

waste

make them hollow Oh miserable!

We, the ones who accept

nothing, unless rubbish

with what our final supper is being

prepared,

let us reject!

On sun's eves

to south

I was finally transferred.

The nectarines dropped

down her juicy breasts,

lucidity rips

in hands paring

and squeezing nodes

delighted we

absorbed the remains.

Travels awake in me bizarre, ambiguous

dreams.

However,

we succeeded hushing the scruffy radio guys;

parked in awe

they gazed at us

flabbergasted...

I didn't mind.

Febrile in anticipation

I scanned the landscape imagining

how it would be for each of the other 33

in the bus

to look into the same landscape.

Which sensations would they have

before the same reality

that dazzled

me.

The bus stopped.

Time for the little pee, coffee and cookie.

The guys couldn't behave,

there was trash everywhere;

collateral furies diverted me.

I closed my self in my window

and let my eyes land in a still car not faraway.

Inside the driver stared at us

and I at him and he at me... I don't know

it was too faraway

but I felt

that that he

could be

I.

© 2014, JC

Debouchment Studies III

Debouchment Studies III

City buses can be a great place to fall

literally or in love with

A parallel mix of fugitive lines

speeding up in tedious rituals

enmeshed labyrinths hiding

neighborhoods lingerie classics against

faded yellow houses on the verge of knowing

gravity

Before getting in do not forget to

obliterate your ticket

This city is a river. An Immense

water surface

rippled behind it's margins

meshing every air particle

with a unique

luminosity

crowned by pine trees

blended to the rhymes of

Atlantic impetus

forging the soul of her

seven hills

Sometimes memories wipe themselves

out. Window seats are the best;

Although there is a general concern

the clock is ticking likewise

sun raises from east

to the sound of staid faces confirming

the hour -

happiness will wait

while taverns go open in

decent morning cleanness

the smell of coffee will pour through

narrow streets in metric scale

widened after p.m. with lewd estuary's

breeze

strangely

there's never a collector on sight

fate is an excuse

we like to adore

no matter what

we'll drink to it

we'll sing our sad songs

after midnight comes

unveiled in communal acceptance

blurred by cigarette smoke

juicy intimacy

and a wasted love

waiting

Running for their last minute's drive

taxis should be avoided too

it all ends up with a view

a hand drawing a future there

far behind windows or

long after present waters clash

into the open sea

before dawn threats with

promises squirting west-like adrenaline

we'll be all dreaming

bizarre corpses on a reckless

indefinite

journey

© 2014, JC

Social-haziness

Hands

flipping seconds

ropes sliding tunes of anxiety

Brain

freezing heart beat

though sweetness pea hooks

Verbal

paralyzing thought fluids

psycho tension fuzzing self

Being

too much aware of

not a competitive tool

Some herbs may help learn social-haziness!

© 2014, JC

Debouchment Studies II

Debouchment Studies II

Like particles of water

unable to plan directions

into solid ground WE converge

Enlarged by many

our strength and power becoming

ONE. We'll always have

matter of plenty

seduction to remember

Paris, Venezia, Lisbon

(though)

among so many

adrift we stroll

without putting

the slightest fight

or even

considering

                 q u i t i n g

“... the stream

using its unique magnetism

ensures group cohesion.”

(but)

the problem being -

rule Ii must remember this,

being an opponent to

lamb(ic)like structured society

never felt compelled to

rejoice in unison

with....,

just because of

(do or die)

unable to prove true

or false

at this point of stars

we all mingle as one hyper

universe

into

YOU.

© 2014, JC

Injury

And injury! Shaken against my
system of honour and forever you.
Takes out sparkling memories
sticking articles into zillions.

© 2014, JC

An architected Bang

Objectively as RED
lines Escape any balance. An
architected Bang blowing directions,
come up with a Twilight!
Make possible, improbable.

© 2014, JC

The Strange Thing About Words

The Strange Thing About Words

How often we ignore them

in fact, we

gradually increase our debug level

in order not to get annoyed by the

ignorance, noise

invading our aura of

integrity

She licked her onion soup lips, just before sealing the envelope;

days later I could still smell it

in my finger news

We used to write incognito letters

to each other

just rendering our sexuality

as emotional appetites

in innocuous words

Can you image?

everything was so purely blatant

once I told her I would digress over her neck and shoulders

she sent me a photograph of hers, in her room

in return I sent her a small barrel filled with soft yolked eggs

And you trusted her... your feelings?

It was too late not to. From the moment you stand up inertia is gone and

you can't stop raising the mood

When you're cast in the middle of a full raising moon

you're lost!

Laying in bed, I would wait, anxiously

day after day

for the postman next bell's ring

Alienated from all the rest, I

envisioned only

one unnamed departure

mine, onto an exotic land.

Have you ever seen a bull fight?

Words can be powerful, dangerous as the glaciers path

they can trim your mind, at a distance

pound your core

existence squeezed

bull fixed gory eyes in man's

The moment preceding brutal clash

words like keen horns

inflicting naïve pain

upon disarmed

beliefs

Attachment grows while you're sleeping – no control

(another time) she sent me a sandalwood letter opener

which I mixed with the scent of

dunes and spinifex

devouring all

afterwards.

Some men have baby-dolls!

© 2014, JC