countdown.

ten

life swarms with innocent eyes
its one true charm is strangeness,
the eyes that aren’t mine

nine

you can close your eyes and hear nothing
but the influence in the conversations.
even the air can’t detach itself from it.

eight

laughter becomes a necessary ingredient.
suffering is a forgotten memory.
we fall in each other’s arms.

seven

our feet start their own beat.
our ears cultivate the music
with pleasure and vulnerability.

six

we stroll with our eyes wide open.
the stars hide in the night sky, afraid
of being outnumbered.

five

you and I, we extract the
eternal from the ephermal, as we
measure the streets with our footsteps.

four

your gaze is a desire, desired by many.
for only few the stars align so they can die
beneath it.

three

you have inspired, and conquered.
now take your pleasure.

two

I look around with my naive eyes.
I see a cemetery of life
under the moon unblessed.

one

you walk on the corpses,
beautiful and undismayed.
I feel, if even for a second, the infinity of delight.
all of it, the sum of a multitude of delights.

happiness.

pine street.

At the stoplight waiting for the light
hand upon hand
san francisco nine a.m.
we witness the rushed streets
coming to life
bright yellow garbage trucks
with garbagemen in fluorescent blazers
an elegant mercedes
with an elegant couple
remote controlled skateboards
and hip backpacks.

Across the whole world
in the ocean
of this democracy
I stand with you
and the red light for an instant
holding us all close together
in a gravitational composition.
I look at you
as if anything at all is possible.

back to the shore.

As if each kiss
is one more promise.
a little wish
carried by the waves
to the shore.
perhaps already
we’re summoned by the hand
which calls
to the inevitably youthful eyes.

As if each kiss
lingers like lilies
in the swamp.
you hold your breath
you also hold mine
and in the slow return
from the fire
we struggle to breathe.

the bent head
the curved neck
and the bell strikes again.

we make our way back
to the shore
bound together, the sum
of life.

$5 a poem

I cannot speak
because I’m feeling.
my voice belongs to another.
my feelings speak of her.

as I slowly climb the stairs
with my voice quietly settling back in its place
I notice the loneliness
of the paintings on the wall.
art can be vacant
like the inside of the shoe
while the humans howl
in the sun.

I walk into my room
and a tidy bed awaits.
it certainly wasn’t expecting me
this late
or my new habit
as I pour a glass of wine
and open up my journal.

I have my voice back
but I still cannot speak.
I’m feeling
the echoes in me
as I bring the glass
to the horizon of my eyes
and paint the walls residing
in my mind
on paper.

poetry is what happens when
nothing else can.

almost like a dream.

Almost like a dream in lost landscapes,
Behind the rickety gates of our past;
There rests a rose which resembles your shape,
Which transcends the beauty of the valley vast;

Always in the heart she loves,
And hears every whisper that weeps;
Her smile echoes in the sky above,
Below a forsaken forest lies asleep;

Each day the sun climbs up your lips,
To shamble in the tricks of lust and pride;
A song, like a wing, it eclipses,
The continuation of landscapes by your side;

        Almost like a dream these words will forever shine,
        In the summer skye where our fates intertwine.

written in the sand.

the wilderness and mystique
of the mountains
was a self-reflection.
it was my thoughts
that carried me afar
when the rotten roughness
in my muscles
gave its final verdict
on my breathing.
the end wasn’t near
but cleverly hidden by
the might and the quiet
of her earthly colors.

i dragged my feet
up the granular mix
of granite and wise roots
and mosquitoes
and their aerial routes.

eventually i became a
static existence
with the wind trying
to gush the spirit forward.

i rested my eyes
for an infinite minute
and found myself
next to your eyes
your hands
entangled in mine
right outside the wilderness
of the ocean
our lips
sharing the wine
from the same evening
when your smile
said it all
it is still the reason
why i did fall

and the wake up call
did push me
to look out for the end
i lost the paved path
but i ended up
finding a little more of myself
in your thoughts
written in the sand.

a dream is dead.

so walk slowly
don’t put your heavy
foot forward
stay away from the light
let it mourn over
the death, a dream has
just incurred.

let the light reflect
what it could have been
and create a shadow out of
what it has become.
do not whisper
for you may delay
its existence and
a connection with me
in a new world.

but don’t walk away
just stay, and notice
what happens after you killed
your dream last night
over a cup of coffee
you put on the blinds
and brushed it aside from
your life.
you celebrated your eyes
soon after that
and ignored the cries
coming from the floor
oh, how cruel a man
must be not to feed
and kill the child
of his own.

be careful, you’re stepping
over the line
just stop breathing
and let it die
and go back to
chasing what normality ensues
after a one last sigh.

Three More Days: a.co/8qmOtnw

don’t know what to call this one.

I picked up my pen
last night
to tell you
why I still keep your
shampoo in my bath
but soon as the ink
started flowing
my body started to
drown in the bubbles
of our past
the time when I thought I knew
what love is
and then crossed
our paths.

and the time stopped
moving around, it got up
and set on a
straight line
it followed your lead
into your exploration of a new space
while I watched
helplessly, from behind.

and soon my pen
danced under the dim light
and drew the ink
from my heart
you took those moments
away, from me
and all I was left with
was some words on a page and
your shampoo, in my bath.

and the bird has flown

and it is
the mildly painted winds
and stacked streets

i walk among the laboring
shadows, the scent still clinging
to the holes in my jacket.
the feet have no known
destination, and
so do my eyes.

it is the light
in the sky, that cuts through
the vacuum of her presence
and wishes to fill
the void, the reminiscent of fall.

but the rain ticks
turning my body clockwise
to the next course
even though her feathers
still calmly lay on
my clothes, the bird
who chirped the songs
of summer, has left us both.

her faint feathers
and silky silhouette
dives in with the waves
and swim on, to where
her heart belongs
but cometh the fall
and once again
will sing the bird
loud in mid-summer
a singer everyone has heard.

you’re stepping on the ground.

every day i come home
and find myself
trying to stare through
those black + white walls
hoping to rent some colors
and moving thoughts
however mindless
they might seem
it’s better than
standing together
with no wishes or dreams

and then your face
slowly walks over
into my eyes
their lies fade away
into the colored canvas
of a dusky sky

but soon as a blink
i breathe in
and your eyes are gone
leaving my smile
halfway along
the way
where wishes and dreams
stay

and i see a cracked
faint voice over my ears
lingering around
“hey, you need to
keep walking
you’re stepping on the ground.”