When everything comes from where you least expect,
you tell me there is nothing we can do,
we sleep on the shadow without sunset,
the signs we are looking for
cannot be lost.
Love and hatred
A muse that I’ve created
whispered me approaching too much
like a stone gliding in water.
I was watching her sticking
to my chest like a chimney
and waiting for the heat to embrace it.
The only
Bricking in each other,
the stone temples complain about the tranquility inside.
The hung chandelier turns on its lights,
there’s no fog smoking in the looks.
The faces sanctify themselves
His words were drained
the letters were picked up by crows.
No sentence made by the eye
says anything to anyone,
the dry south wind passes by insulted through
our bones and our seasons,
poor
The fog clings to the leaves of the trees
leaving no marks on the forehead.
Eyes hit as of a wall
we understand how they want to split it.
Clocks can’t take it anymore,
they fall
Diamonds cut in the green eye
enlighten the moment
the angels are flying.
Since the white wolves seek the prey
an instinctive hunger
falls in the care of daily searching.
The cold and the
Because nobody has asked why
and how it happens,
we’ve moved one inside of the other
we’ve synchronized our gestures
that we come out with.
I dressed up in clown clothes
but there was bustle
The runaway feelings
leave marks at home,
the barefoot body is walking alone
with no shade,
only words have bitter fingerprints.
A fake laughter
listens to its watch
lost in the woods of
It traces the path of the salt bones
waters of the night
marking signs for the sunset.
Loneliness was sneaking in the treasure hunters
rummaging the cemeteries ashes,
the stones got used to
Laws are too restrictive
for my freedom to be respected
by those who play with the right from one decision to another,
which people call grafters.
I comfort myself
with the bitter smile of
The anxiety, feverishness of mind,
has climbed the stairs,
the expectation has been left behind
with fruit on the branches.
From an aspiration with forehead on the sky,
where from ambition she
Giving shape to tomorrow, my thought
names love
and flourishes in rains.
conceiving the being of the barren clay.
That moment the light is born,
the baptismal aura of my head
receives the
She was meant to be my shadow,
thin ankle with sound pulp,
knee cap in every word.
She was climbing on the rain
to make the earth green
to make everything flourish.
From so much joy
I was
Learn what you don’t learn easily
discovering through abstract
the dotted line of understanding
a flying arrow.
The circle to become
signs the inside world,
where the sharp mind,
fast as
There was a travelling song
heard on a road in the public transportation,
there was a mute, natural carelessness
that I supported my belief on.
There were my eyes looking far away
as through
Clouds are too high
for a bird with broken wings
it’s not getting anymore what rains mean.
When the occurrence hits the target
someone tells her not to be afraid
and the pitch-eyed woman
is
You set light
in a bronze star
on the heaven’s curve
where nights run
on mountain slopes that swallow the darkness.
I love a shady tree
in mornings that kiss springs
as I love your
Closed by the spider’s canvas in the corner
it only sees gray days.
Feeling no justice is more frustrating
than the pain of isolation,
the longing to be free.
Evenings are quiet
fall over out
The night was not black, it was gray,
the stars were green, fallen among us,
the road was taking to the river, up to the spring
then it was entering the tunnel, crossing over.
You left without
I believe in someone you can’t just believe in at once,
in a juggler,
what’s real crumbles in his hands
and then comes back the same,
the close viewers’ watchful eyes
make him laugh.
Women
I never cried for sadness
I cried for the indifference of those full of themselves,
people with the illusion of getting used to
enjoying only to themselves.
I wanted to change,
like a bird
The moon has hided in the mulberry in the front,
I sneak on the porch of the house,
the voice of the night lays in poems
page by page.
Nothing that I’d written is not known,
the hikers wings
I am looking at ruined monuments and modern buildings,
the working face of an era.
Grounded roads of carelessness mud,
spoiled wishes of sick power.
Porcelain dolls purchased from antique
As a skin duplication
the body lets itself heat
as a preparation for sex.
The latch unleashes
in certain moments of the wishes struggle,
when they overlap
over the facts.
Nobody confuses
