ABSTINENCE

I’ll keep trying to forget
'cause there’s no other way to remember,
To shake off the sweaty smell
Of another thought that gets dismembered.

I’ll keep going back and forth
Between the smoke of my last cigarette
And the raw aftertaste of satisfaction
That inevitably rings a bell
But falls apart with the slightest distraction
Inside the cotton sheets of a cheap motel.

There is a victory in knowing that I’ve done it again,
That I’ve managed to stand straight and declare,
Under the smooth light of your judgmental stare,
that I ignored the condescending chance of learning from my mistakes,

that I’m willing to commit the same crimes,
that I’ll continue writing the same rhymes,
licking the rough edges and riding the same thighs,
that I’ll relapse, fold, and collapse
under the historical reflection of things that won’t last.

CADAVER EXQUISITO con nicks de MSN

Doy al tiempo la razón,
Ah, estúpida alegría,
No vives de ensalada, no vives de ensalada,
Ya casi
Tarareando al compás.

Absolutely Enchanted
Cuz you´ve got a secret smile…
The way you sip your tea
You make me smile.
Dancers are the athletes of God,
You said’it maan… nobody fucks with the Jesus!
Turntables rock.
Just need to be closer, lean on me now,
On lollipops and crisps…
Just a touch.
Laugh till your motherfucking ass gets drafted.


(gracias a todas las personas que participaron en la creación de este poema, aunque no lo sepan)

HEMORRHAGE

Skimmed-Scam Non-fat Ice-Queen Bitch,
Turn around so you can’t reach,
So you can’t scream in that high pitched
petty little freckle of a voice.

Physically fitted to drink on the brink
Of the five corners in that ancient,
Paradise-like, odorless, one-roomed,
Ridiculously clever thing you call home,
Beds like stone, ceilings made out of bone,
A verbal hemorrhage
Every time you open the fucking door.
Nice coffee table…
oh, sorry, it didn’t really look like a dog.

Hang a picture here and there,
Sweep the food and mop your hair,
sing a song, pass the bong,
or simply try to play along,

I`ll have some meat for breakfast,
I`ll cook and knit and kiss your feet,
I’ll do whatever you ask
(even come back from the past),
As long as you promise that this won’t last!

Tit for tat

There is a soft precision in solitude,
a convenient absence in gratitude,
an accusing finger
in everything that remains unchanged,
a conversation every now and then,
an evolving silence at the side of my tongue,
the forbidden tune
of a song that’s long gone.

There is a slow recognition in light,
an indulgent self-portrait
that screams tit for tat
with a sickening look, a dull pat on the back,
sit here, do that, stay fit or get fat.
Come on… don’t get sad,
it’s ok if your breasts start to sag…
if there’s a wrinkle here and there…
if you’re defined by grey hair…
nobody expects that much anyway.