Bull’s Eyes

 

Fingers and feet don’t know what to do with themselves

When you have to be a stone

Waiting for the rain to turn you into a flower

Waiting for rain with open lips and hands

Sometimes the fidgeting turns into a dance

To loosen the limbs, the head and the heart

And endless swirling into the pulse of one’s heart

Sometimes lying flat and throbbing

Your iron will throws at the phlegmatic sky your own virgin blood

Instead of rolling down the hills to seek pleasure

By striking the rock for water to come out

Or you could be a black and white photo

An immortal gaze watching time zip by

A teardrop falling into a black hole

While ears wait and sweat

To hear the sound of contact

They wait for the rain and put life and death on hold

To make sure your eyes are on the ball

Following the ball

Moving with the ball at all times

Old People Are Garbage Good for Gardening

You don’t know how good you are

Until you are good and dead

And by then the question as to how good you are

Is superseded by how dead you are

“This has to make sense”

We tell ourselves while munching on a good chicken wing

We exchange loud salamu alaykum to check if we are all good and alive

It’s not easy to take people’words at face value nowadays

Because you are trying to get words to have arms and legs

So they can do all the kissing for you

But what’s the cost of a bitter life nowadays?

We keep sweets in our pockets like charms against the bitterness of life

And hope they will keep us sweet enough

To be remember with a smile

When we are garbage only good for gardening

Maybe, Maybe Not

People are never where they say they are

They are sitting across you

But you don’t know that you are staring at a shell

While the host has left the building

But you are quick to leave also

And all that’s left are two unreal people trying to be real

You remember too well the loneliness of Real meets Fake

You ended up talking, eating, walking, making love

Only with yourself

She just happened to be there

But the key to her box was lost

And never sought after anymore

She couldn’t take anyone chasing after her anymore

All about her, her kinky hair, her loose clothes and bathroom slippers

Spelled contentment in who she ended up being

Pleasant and pleasing herself without anyone say so

So you went ahead and did the foolishness of loving her even more

Because you hate not having

And when she finally gave

A lazy “I love you too”

Heavens should have come for you

But it barely brushed past your “Maybe tomorrow she will love me”

She ended marrying you

Gave you children

Lived blissfully

But your happiness had never made a come back

Your eyes still thinking and saying:

“Maybe tomorrow she will love me”

Stepping to Live

Here was a man who couldn’t find his music

So he dragged his voice at his feet

But Heavens always came apart

Whenever his voice rose above his navel

Here was a man careful with emotions

He liked to keep them in his breast pocket

warm and close by

While he wrote down carefully in blood an History of Anger

Tracing through his genealogy the impetuous rivers of Anger

He liked walking in long strides

Trying to bring life to himself with every step

He glowed at night

And burned during the day

Because tomorrow never comes

So burn, he says

Burn because tomorrow never comes

Empty Gestures

A simile was hiding underneath my smile

A slim laughter was stuck in my throat

And my throat surrounds this slim laughter with slimy walls

This was the kind of laughter to slip and fall inside you

To never come out of you It will go on echoing inside you

Ricocheting from one rib to another

Making your breasts giggle and harden with excitement

And once it has exhausted you

Leaving from behind

You find afterall how empty you are

And sweetly so

But when fear comes to sit on your lap like a cat

You are too familiar with it to shoo it away

So you look around for whoever or whatever to be swallowed

Just so laughter can return

To purge you again and again

Bewitched

When I’m not busy bleeding all over this page

I put on makeup to keep my face looking young and beautiful

because that’s the only way I can be loved

it’s a pity my heart has turned black overnight

otherwise I would be all over that milky soul of yours

you tell me not to worry

that this isn’t your first rodeo

and I can feel the beast in me wagging its tail for you

Souvenirs Part 2

papa faisant marcher Joy

 

His eyes were drinking the last sunlight of the day.

A tableau nouveau was up in the sky.

The joys he felt gave him blurred fragments of his life:

This isn’t as bad as it seems,

There’s a faded picture of his father walking the child he was

The picture swells up and its occupants come alive

The smells, the birds outside, the meaningless sounds of the father to the child

Eyes rolled back, he relives that moment and wishes it to stay

But that moment fades like all the best things he’s ever had

Loss had dug valleys on his face

The sun, the moon and the stars played in his eyes

And despite the seduction of complete surrender

He breathed  and lived every breath.