When I die - and I shall die

before you - I wish so much

you won't cry. Receive me with

an innocent hug - so innocent

that angels will become jealous.

And, having me in your arms

like never before, then

close my eyes with a kiss.

​

I, dead,

will sail the seven seas,

and the trail of my boat

you'll follow in your thoughts. Think

of me, my dreams, and my sorrows...

And, if you see me approaching the pier of hell,

you'll see me seated on the waves,

smiling to you.

You, Lucifer,

Welcome me with that hug...

Not a hug of who's hollow

or might become. A hug made of love,

to someone you've waited for waves.

When we kiss - and I know we will

live in each other, in the same body

with no lies or truths, through life

and death and life in death.

II

I promise you no tomorrow,

but today will last forever. And your gate

will be my gate, and your heart

my heart. Move

dust from the gates to

write my name in your heart, and make

a drawing of the lost

and Lucifer - an oyster

and a pearl. And sometimes

we pretend we remember

and sometimes we remember

sometimes - we lose years to find

all we lost in a moment.

III

Look me in the eyes

and tell me you live

for me - give up your hell,

my Lucifer. And send

them all to heaven - carried

by angels. And alone

we stay - for together

we are what the other never reach - the heaven

in hell. Inhale

my soul and everything.

I am yours. And love

and love, and love. And

you and I, and all the dreams

we never told anyone. Our faces

painted red. You take me to bed

and your naked body on my not less naked body...

... I am still alive for your love.

In the town, seeing was limited, and the lovers never opened their eyes.

In an attempt to get people to focus on the essential and also to appease the blind, the mayor has decided to limit the time to stay with your eyes open - allotting each person one hour to open their eyes, per day. Early every morning, people come out of their houses and walk with a white cane down the street. While most of the rich have guide dogs, she and I always walk arm in arm. When she stumbles, I hold her tight and hear her smile. I learned to hear her. We walk until we reach the main street, stop for a moment on the sidewalk in front of her workplace, and then we kiss. When we kiss, we are as blind as any other lover in any other town.

At work, in my barbershop, I do haircuts blindfolded. And when someone knocks on the door, I open it without opening my eyes. And instead of writing, I record my poetry. During the day I always miss her and sometimes the days last for months and the months last for oceans. But generally, I think I am adjusting well to the new law.

In the evening, I run home. I have nothing to spend but time on her. And I want to sing her all the songs she makes me dream of. And light comes and goes and comes again, and everything with my eyes closed for all I want it to see her.

I enter the door, kiss her and proudly say I still have my sixty minutes to admire her. When I open my eyes, I see hers closed - and I know she has used up all her time looking at somebody else. So I sit, looking at her, memorizing each and every corner of her face - and for 60 minutes I love more, and for 60 minutes I inhale everything I need to survive the next day. After that, I just sit alone and cry the whole night with my eyes closed.

I laugh not to cry. Life has already left my eyes, and I feel numb. I have cried so many nights, prayed to whatever gods may be for help, for nothing more than justice. We all die, and we all know it. But knowing your exact day and time is… Cold blue nights. You can’t beat death, but you can beat death in life - and I am unconquerable. I didn’t kill those children. Tomorrow is another day just like thousands of days I’ve lived alone in this cell, singing a silent Hallelujah, and trying to breathe. I am tired - I am sick of begging and waiting for the water to drain. I told everybody the truth, but they couldn't deal with it - it is a lion that no one could tame.

Every night, alone in the darkness of my room, I decide to kill myself early in the morning, but I always end up crying on my knees. All the wounds are hidden, behind the emptiness of soul. I am not empty - I swear I am not empty. And I am less always than alive, and less dead than forgive. Twenty more days until my happy ending. They killed me seventeen years ago when they locked me up, and now, now they are just releasing me - setting me free. I miss life, red oaks, and my daughter's smile. I miss her above all. I miss what I will never have. Don’t let your heart get heavy. Don’t let them beat you.

- I am fighting for freedom!

Kiss me, tremble me, and love me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Escape, rain and bombinate me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Listen, cry and drag me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Undress, drown and caress me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Bite, smile and ignite me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Buy, by and bye me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Lie, lure and hurt me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Kiss, moan and be me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Fly, whisper and save me,

But you can't write an honest poem

- I look at you.

This gun leaves me paralyzed,

I shed a tear and

I try to breathe.

I am trapped by

the invisible ghost of my mind,

I love you - I swear.

It's so violent and hard

yet beautiful to look

you in the eyes.

I am chasing old ideas,

the cracks of my lies,

the edges of my mistakes,

and my ten thousand tries.

You dragged me here,

I whisper to the gun.

Make me want

to fall in love again.

The nudity of my feelings

flew with your holy doves,

I cry for my mistakes

and my ten thousand loves.

I do not want to die within you.

but I am a lover and like all lovers,

I am not afraid to die.

Don’t feel sorry for me.

I am sorrier for the others

than for my mistakes.

I used to think that

my goal in life was to make

you pay attention.

I tried to feed my ego

with your recognition,

when my soul was the essential.

And all it needed was love

     - not yours, but hers.

I don't think I could ever kill a person.

Nor an animal.

I read too many books,

I don’t drink enough water,

I can’t write poetry anymore.

Sometimes I think

“one day will be the last”

but then I remember that even Rilke died.

I am a small particle in this world, yet not small enough – not empty enough to go unnoticed.

I hate hospitals because they remind me we are made of flesh and bones. Also because people die in there. Anyway, people die everywhere – and most of the time they aren’t aware. Yesterday is here. I try desperately to run, but yesterday holds me back. And here I am today to put an end on it, and gloriously announce – today is the end of yesterday! I tend to get lost. Life is too short for my desires. The day is too small and the night gets me tired. I tend to get stuck between my laziness and my apathy. About life, I never knew much, except the fact that we are born to die. And those who write to postpone their deaths are the first ones departing. I am not talking about the writers nor the poets. I am referring to the thousands of people who call themselves writers – those who seek recognition, or money, or women, or any other reason other than to vent. It’s not a matter of wanting – you either are a writer or you are not. Don’t force what you don’t have inside you. Anyhow, today my words are ugly, today my heart is nothing more than a cold hamburger. I think I will try to drown myself in the shower – or maybe I should use the bathtub. Now I understand those who commit suicide – if you believe that with death comes rebirth. 

my butter flies.

it melts and mingles with my ghosts.

catch you on the flip side, butter.

02/Oct.  7 pm

in Apple Store

I once bought a Toshiba to write about her. The typewriter couldn’t follow the rhythm of my heart. In fact, nothing could. Feelings tend to make me irrational. I wrote an average of twelve poems a day – all about you. Sometimes I would write twenty, but here’s the thing – you can’t trust averages. If we think, there aren’t many things one can believe. But well, I trusted her. I still do. I have this thing inside me – I can’t stop loving someone even after they smash me. I’m miserable, or maybe I’m just a lover. Anyhow… the computer broke, and I don’t like pencils. I like to think about you, and to love you. To love you, above all.

The clerk is looking at me. I think I’m taking too long. Anyway, these computers are too expensive. I can’t afford writing!