the trysts

i look at you the one i love
the one i often make love with

and i pity myself as i have
degraded the quality of my being

i am asking, how can i be in love
to such a fool?

it is a question that i have long
answered as i continue meeting

you making love with you and
we never said  a word for it.

doing nothing

sorry but i have to leave you
once in while to discover myself

i am lost and no one knows it
i am not found i know it

sorry but i have to be somewhere
a place that you do not know

i am here now wondering and
wandering for days and days

i am sitting upon the floors of
an old house doing nothing.

capa de leon

sticking upon a big tree
you thrive, you have become so huge,
sucking the rottenness
of another existence, until you begin
to wilt, but you have already prepared for
all these,
the spores are ready
all concealed beneath your
cape, and then the winds
take them all

another tree, another fool.

a kind of traveler

how evasive has fate been with me
now that i have given up what i have in mind

i have become a traveler without a destination
i have no intention of stopping somehow

all these is just a matter of intuition as
i, the passive railing, nailed, and keeps on waiting.

wrongs

they are more into
exclusions
we do not mind somehow
we are also
not into inclusions

outside inside
they are the same
it is the circle
it is the cycle that only happens
front of bars
or behind bars
nothing matters much
it is how one sees it
either from the heart
or from the mind

echoes

when i sleep with you
i listen to the echoes of your moans
in the hills
i hear every word that misses
the pointless
the phrase that needs badly
a clause
to complete the periods of life
the commas of death
the exclamation of
surprises
there is no end to this quest
for the meaning
of my skin
the maps of love that fingers
closely monitor
the nests of forgiveness
still birds
without wings
clipped claws
and blank stars to the boundless
horizons
bluish afternoons
on shadows of trees
and hills on fading colors
green then black

wearing the masks

for fun
the masks too wear masks
the world does not play
dropping dead
it meets the mask with another mask
and then
laughs
there is this feast
of pretensions
away from the serious shelves
where books only
read about
the chapter where the heroine
makes love
her only weapon
her whiteness against the night skies