​

​

​

 

 

 

The Wheel of Death

​

The end´s final call, but the seats remain empty

And while I close my eyes, the wheel starts to spin 

As the night rose again, the depth of the absence

Began to burn the scars that were left encrypted on skin

In an exposition of the departed

And abandoned to it I am standing stock-still.

The procession in me is now almost over

Grey calm interrupted

Hearing the knife striking closer each time,

We´re always too late for what could have happened

Afraid of finding out there´s nothing out there worth to find.

Once our hands built a bridge towards what was missing

It would have been great, but great things don´t occur.

Anticipating the outcome, the option to defer

Startled in stillness, death on a red carpet:

No words left to say, no sign to follow

Just the clang of the blade as I'm now the target.

Caught between two eclipses, tomorrow´s undone,

Now hearing the knife striking closer and closer

I crave to consume everything until it´s gone.

​

Lullaby for Don Juan

​

One last line

Clinging high

On the rose-colored dusk
As Don Juan

King of the broken hearts

The lover of all 
Laid naked and distinctively drunk 
Drawing the days between

The mosquito blood stains
Decorating the wall 
And finding bliss

In the wine

On the floor

Amongst shattered glass

Having already forgotten

The latest body he loved 
On the rusty grass
That afternoon. 
But lower the red flags
Though no quantity could satisfy

His hungry hands
It was Friday night

And Don Juan had no plans 
Nor desire of going out.

For Don Juan life was a wasted last wish
And lingered for freedom

Between love´s lustful legs
The traveler of beds
Pleasure´s a moment to seize
Even if it sometimes required 
To reenact a romance

Around it.
Dancing on promises that pendulate 
Between the height of the hope

And a doubt´s abyss
His love was a nest for disease
On a quest to convert

A miss in a whore
The lover for more
Knew that the women would eventually

Want their revenge
And revenge is sick of death
Excess has its laws
It was Friday night

And Don Juan couldn´t find rest
In the darkness behind the closed doors.

The dread of the end of it all
In a more recent world of a ´No means no´
The once upon darker times master of deceit
Couldn´t talk his way out of the limbo
And found his charm obsolete

Fighting an age
As he failed to update the capital tricks
of the chase.

No dark patterns on new skin,
Not even the weeping divorced would bother in
Knocking at Don Juan´s door to sin.
The lover for more
Bitter deep in solitude 
For all of the promises

That he didn´t keep.

And as hell seemed to dissolve into dawn
When he finally fell into sleep
Don Juan had a dream
That death came as the sound 
Of the whispering witches

That gathered around
And burned him
 

For all of the promises

that made women

weak.

​

​

Dreamscape

​

Time stopped at 3.15

And let loose the seat bealt of reality

To dwell into the boundless texture of a dream.

Reminiscence of a forgotten chant

Where clouds crawl up on concrete´s walls and whip up storms

Through the roof of my mind

-Rite of passage undefined-

In the cold breath where Jekyll meets Hyde,

In an outbreak of thoughts, I tare myself towards the inside

And the start of a wave orchestrates all the extreme:

Particles of thoughts in a speeding car hunting for a dream

Take me where the corrupt ends and where exult begins

Where I build up houses, people and monsters

That my eyes in life have never seen.

It leads me to the truth behind, uncertain and serene

Where heresies collide in an improvised past

To the root of things tired of making sense

(skeleton key of the outcast)

Where roads still starve for space in the other side of night,

In a fragmented sky , apart from the blight of the world.

Induced adventure with shadows of romance

The last death throes on appointed paths

Where all of time is present, bereft of continuity

Where my unconscious is the only god left.

Postpone unhappiness for the lie of the land

A human contraband

Longing of ambiguity, baptised oblivion in uncharted territories

No consequences

Corridors of mind twisting all symbols

With the delicate carelessness of unstructured stories

Impenetrable ritual loading prophecy, dancing mythology,

The mountains in me rearrange the signals.

I am the only resident in a dream´s heartbeat.

Core of life not to remember, I retain only the taste of it.

The first and only glance of it.

The sense of it

Just

take

me

back

to

it.

​

Time stopped at 3.15 a.m

When I surrender to dreams

Hoping this time

Day

Won´t wake me up again.

​

 

All my lovers

​

In the witching hours of creaky gods who rest

I lead the darkness into vestal beds where

I cut

All my lovers´ heads.

 

It´s alright now,

In springtime´s nest we grin amongst dead bodies.

Meanwhile graceful birds sail through clouds

And cause enviousness.

In hands lacking of affection

Time no longer moves any pawn...

I´m drawn into you,

The one standing closest to the sky,

I´m drawn into you like night´s chained to whispers

With your mystical traces, the fog in your veins

Ripples in my bones;

My skin, my skin summons you.

It's been too long since us two stopped belonging.

I need you to need me,

To reach me in fallen continents of abandonment

I want to get lost

In the wondrous woods of your hallowed eyes

I want your martyr lips to draw my name in laudation

Leave me your statuesque wounds to supervise

Beyond salvation,

It´s no one´s blame.

I want to caress your arms,

Engraving new scars on them,

Lick your skin 'til I strip it from your body,

I want to bite your ear so hard it bleeds.

Hit you

And

Give you the right to respond.

Let me correspond you in the unhappiness of existence

A widow's weeds

And share our melancholy

Under the moon´s sweet company.

Let me be your choice among varieties of suffering

(And no, I certainly do not imply I wish you to marry me

Cause marriage is a pretty nasty thing to do to anybody.)

​

Don´t resist it love

Because the night will stay

And a black cat with sweet stripes

Will swallow the forest in your jade eyes.

Let´s burn the breeding ground of fear´s myth

Tangling onto archetypes

And orchestrate a waltz with bullets in Hades´ labyrinth,

Let´s put our shadows on the table

And play with them charades

Cause it’s a long way back to sunset, baby,

And the stars emerge as blades;

It’s a long way back to sunset

In the wrench geography of pain

So don´t resist it love

And kiss me now

Before the moon goes mad

And kills again.

​

​

A rumor of death

​

The rain started to drop like a violent feeling

Blood screaming in the verbs

As I remain standing in the garden.

The roots digging their way towards me

Adding years to the silence

And I surprise myself smiling

Like an abandoned child

In the nimbus of matter

As earth drips through my ankles.

A rumor of death passed over all the thresholds

And in the cracks in the walls of the shed

I

          sink

                              like

                                                   a hatchet.

​

Fall in a new way.

Peel the layers away

Into a state of withdrawal.

​

​

Pas de deux

 

She looked into his eyes

And he understood it was time.

No sign of protest

Only a dense pause blessed

By the revelation:

The struggle had stopped;

Her hand falling softly on his forehead

In a mixture of exhaustion and calm

A silent prayer in her palm

Prorogues the farewell.

Undertones of Grief steps before

Loss,

The glimpse of life before its death,

In shards of hearts

There´s nothing left

But beauty

Around

The silence and the sentiment.

​

Before they ran like flames on ground

To the profound of freedom´s taste

Before she extended her faith to his grace

Across the hills they hunted skies

Winning the race with time

The horse and his rider.

A spell craft resider.

The lighting beside her.

 

His ears cocked back

And she could decipher someone´s far call

Now absence inside her.

And with a ceremony in gestures

She took him by the halter

Gently outside the stall.

The horse and his rider

Now carefully constructing the path towards his grave

A pas de deux, a code of ritual

Towards the grave that they have dug

Near the crossroad

Between the woods and the clapboard fence.

An instance slowed down by significance.

And almost still in time, reformulating space

An arrow of sun in the rain-swept field

Blooming from the depths of sorrow

The glimpse of life revealed

Before its death,

The beauty left

In silence and in sentiment.

 

She planted a kiss between his eyes

A last caress of his sand hair.

The air has changed

And then he fell shifting his weight

A dust outburst

And wind became

Everything:

The wind dictates the transition to death.

Next to a carving of his name

His footprints still

Crushed on the grass.

Beyond the end there´s always life

She could resent the roar of it

Although it didn´t feel the same.

She stood and watched the clouds

A storm about to burst

The smell of earth.

The sunset sky.

The glimpse of life before its death.

​

Safe

​

Death plunged into me

And left me rust

Sleepwalking on high wire,

A demon host, deposed of dreams,

Nostalgia unscrambled onto trampled wings

Bewilderment on rifle slings.

In the aftermath of cutting edge,

Sat on life´s ledge

Sidestep to catch fire.

The crusher came and in the space between

Burned out the light of the unseen.

While the asylum in me

Swirled into dusk.

Shadows´ state of quarantine .

Untroubled stillness in fear´s safeguard

A fog of thoughts that once were storm

No love to bleed, no thrill or lust,

My heart´s the landscape of a graveyard.

My private hell

The back row seat in chloroform.

​

​

This dream

​

I had this dream once

that a doctor told me I was going to die

that day

at 7 o'clock.

He advised me to enjoy my last hours of life.

I didn't know what to do.

I went home and on my way I started looking at things knowing it was the last time I would see them.

Time flies when you know you're dying.

It was half past six.

I was lying in my parents' bed surrounded by my family.

All of them looking at me with empty eyes,

no one saying a thing.

6:59

10 seconds

9 watching only the clock

8 watching the clock click

7 watching the clock

6 click my final seconds of

5 living

      4 shut my eyes in

      3 tears

   2 hold my last

        1 breath

      

 7 o'clock

 

    I did not die.

    But Dad

    Did.

​

 

The mourner

​

Stridently, the mourner cries rivers of death,

They call upon her father without any answer

The end of the end came as a slow pace disaster 

Insatiable night that swallows lost breaths.

​

Impertinent, loneliness of grief, bitter and disowned,

In a chorus of old women forgotten by Thanatos

The mourner embraces your chest now made of stone

While for your posthumous peace, believers pray clinched to pathos.

​

Suddenly, your heart remained lifeless,

We bury one body, but death is collective in us.

Helpless, now relatives kiss your sleeping forehead

Meant as somber farewell to what once was present:

​

With sharp tears, astonishment to see you;

It seems you, but without being quite you,

In the dark blue, chant of a bloodstained angel

Drags your soul away to a thirsty god

 

Hiding beneath the sod: a burning grave.

Faith left behind a calendar of shadows

Flowers and rivers of death wash away what she knows

In this garden of beasts she´ll try to be brave.

​

​

Cravings concourse

​

Cravings concourse in his futile craze for fulfil

I see restless corpses on the boulevards looking for Cerveza Beer

Ethylic loves in dark clubs that dissolve in hits excess

Here vulgar girls kiss hit-or-miss boys to avoid loneliness

​

Cravings concourse by inheriting modern misery

Waiting lines for happiness as children queued in a fair

Grueling frights of so many false apocalypses

By wilful blindness to ignore one´s own shitty crisis

​

Cravings concourse, redemption of false pain meds

The current ideal man who only prays to banks for loans

A full speed car with no brakes and hours cut to zero.

Only in Disney they used to do justice to the right hero.

​

Cravings concourse, inauspicious ambulant cemetery

Ignoring the present for commitment to follow through

Recumbent dreams which with your permission have been forgotten

The end of the end that you are expecting... it has already happened.

​

​

Regent Street

​

On Regent Street light strikes with fury

A walking crowd hired for slaughter

In shapeless days.

Redundancy forging itself

Into a sumptuous maze

I´m not quite sure how I got here

But

I´m standing skint in a sales serenade.

There is no escape

I find myself trapped in the quarry

Of the butchers brigade.

 

On Regent Street there´s no more context to negotiate

Nothing worth to create

Things tumbling down

On the boarder of need

With speed of greed

Spinning the wheel into a black hole

The shopping march of a part-time soul.

 

I start to run for my life in a cauldron of offers

But before I can tell

 I reach the bottom

In the customised hell of the brands

While one of the walkers with ten bags in her hands

Reassures her friend that she doesn´t have

A spending problem.

​

On Regent Street, even time freaks out

And while you crawl for a chance left out of breath

Opportunity strikes with a drop shot

Out here in the trough, you can only

Seize the day

Off.

On  off

I switch my brain

All I wish for right now

Is a falling meteor

To hit this exact spot.

An instant end to this game of pretend

Leave me at least some sort of dignity in death.

​

 

The last kiss of love

​

Assembling a world in your hands

While the sun sinks in night

Nature whispers with us

As the numinous stars light

Your satiny eyes

And the baffling moon plays its part

Cause it´s there and it … shines

As the last kiss consumes,

Love itself

Rots inside.

 

Wondering through romantic fumes

In a meaningless night

The soul´s out to hunt

In a playground for wounds

With the risk of encountering

Some sort of cunt.

Lay to rest all the demons above

As the feast will commence

One last bite of the lips drenched in love

Let me feed just a bit my prey

With the rite of romance.

 

The last kiss of love will be a snack of the hounds

As we both realize that the feeling inside was in fact

Just a shared anxiety attack.

Love of the damned.

And we both realize love´s a need in disguise

Now there´s blood on my hands and blood in your eyes

There´s no need to know anymore

Nor desire to stay

So keep the words for yourself but

Don´t

Take

Your

Hands

Away

​

Though the meaning attached to the experience of touch

Vanished a long time ago

I´ll take my love to go

In this marching band

Nothing springs from the heart anymore

Love´s just a bruising game

So come

Hold my bleeding hand.

 

 

Casual Sunday

​

It´s a typical Sunday of a laid-back body;

Knocked down by a procession of lovers,

I am abandoned, burning under the summer sun.

It´s a typical Sunday of being nobody.

In the blazing purgatory known as the Costa Brava,

McDonalds salads for healthy habits,

White parties for bronzed elitists,

Obscene joy driving an orgy of egos.

It´s a typical Sunday of carnivorous souls,

Apollonian contemplation of the promenade of slutty dolls

And while persuading myself that it´s still early for pain

I drink some vermouth and I survive, in vain.

Now fugitive lovers separate bodies and say 'Goodbye´.

Now the elderly Catholics pray under Gods watchful eye.

And the TV news show stories where murderers collect all the glory.

Today, the midweek menus are no longer on offer.

With no cab money, I miss the bus and I´m late for supper.

It is a typical Sunday of not having to shave,

No-one comes to visit today, nor plans to stay.

It is a casual Sunday of my summer in Spain

Overdose of piña colada in my tourist veins

When I speak English but think in Romanian.

And without planning it, I always do the bohemian

I agreed to participate in a false pagan hedonism.

Today is Sunday and I die with optimism.