Poetry

there was captain slave
and the book
and also the inner clothes I dress up in night after night
the revolutionaries’ worn out flames
the next time we will not take you by force
our aspirations are to be advertised on movie posters
I shake hands with a swordfish in a blue suit
the blood hums in his gunpowder
all of us are burning
for a catharsis
when you are gone even for an
evening
deep down I am miles into a dare
*
where do you undress
your voice?
who is really naked naked or not?
in vain your tough structure bends
an immense utterance into a whisper
but the electronic walls spy on you
black and bitter from eternity
our wine bites its pulp
above the scars the riddles are unwritten
claws sink into memory
the broken clouds appear to be breaking up
and I owe you
a long book
*
between each infinite maybe I made my way
with being being evaporated drop by drop
do you remember shouting at the earth?
and then the vanquished dawn without birds?
through turquoise and crimson clouds rain fell
soaking our stockings of ashes sunken in traffic
my nails would be delightfully undone
by a solitary arrow on a one way street
I am dressing myself with cold gravestones
in the emptiness of another picnic with all expenses paid
the overture is written on a yellow postage stamp
it doesn’t make sense because it doesn’t
motionless celestial flight
*
the overture however might go on forever
said a heart wildly alone
with a thick tongue of solitary kisses
lightningbolts exploding on my lips
slapping stars in palm trees
with the hair of water
and my semen scattered in constellations
oh! the axe was a torch though I held the light like a weapon above my head!
*