Posts Tagged ‘şiir’

When Lisa told me she had made ​​love
Another, in the life of that phone booth
Tepeyac store , I thought the world
He had for me. A tall skinny guy and
With long hair and a long dick that did not wait
Over an appointment to penetrate to the bottom.
There is something serious , she said , but
The best way to get you out of my life.
Parmenides Garcia Saldana had long hair and had
Been the lover of Lisa , but some
Years later I learned that he had died in a psychiatric clinic
Or that he had committed suicide . Lisa and I did not want
Go to bed with losers. Sometimes I dream
With her and see her happy and cold in Mexico
Designed by Lovecraft. We listen to music
( Canned Heat , one of the preferred groups
Parmenides Garcia Saldana ) and then we
Love three times . The first came inside me
The second came in my mouth and the third , just a thread
Water , a short fishing line, between my breasts. And all
In two hours, said Lisa . The two worst hours of my life,
I said from the other side of the phone.

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poetry , poem

alfosina storni

The streets are empty and still,
between the red time,
then start again.
Trucks bouncing by,
cars to work, work.
The farms are disappearing as I noticed
years ago along this old route.
Now the farms lie beneath
hotels, office complexes whose beauty
is beyond the senses
in some economic realm fortified
by the delusions of power and inequity.
But the farms are lying beneath
and large poisonous plants
fusing the electrical circuits beneath.
No there’s no death to evil,
it rises again, now in war, now in bucks
now in land, now in power,
it rises up forever until the end,
when the light may intercede and remain.
Seek refuge from the fantasy
into one other fantasy.
We see violence done on subways on streets
but we don’t see violence done
in a new class system or economic twist.
Does it murder just as well?
Nothing can be done.
It will go on and on
until the intercessions of the sun.
Everything else has failed, and will,
but the innocence of youth
and the momentum of dawn.

 

 

inhale crystal alice
staircase fingers touching my back,
rabbit martyr
tick , tock
late in the hole,
wednesday stays naively next to tuesday,
as mound of mouth
makes wanton sounds
oh sweet ace of hearts
burn my face
as at the table
in shame and desperation,
tea irresistible at the moment
with insanity breaking loose
mosaic tiles of words and thoughts
propose a whole new story
closer to the experience,
of what the dormouse knew,
shrunken head
damn liquid
mind implodes,
best to roll on back
tilt the ceiling to see the truth
four  thousand stars have brought

piano keys washed in honey [ woman bathing in time ]
sexualist extreme ,
broken straw bed
assembled ingredients of a virgins reflection

desire/slutton/erogenous/ unforgiving

bitter fingers play [woman dried on flowers flesh]
hungering absolute yet no permanence
jazz expelled drum beat symphony

tatoo/dollars /benign/fragile

[woman forgotten in memories light]
supple sinewy ghosts on sunset go

 

a raw experiment for @dVersePoets 55 prompt

 

with the old decades shown in the rain
burdening me with a dampness
remorse in it’s wanting has,
flesh colored dreams
drawn tight into deep constriction
the next day would be more relevant,
sipping a coffee cold at the edges
no plate on the mat
hunger not the issue here,
wet clothes painful to the bone
unnoticed by a vapor soul,
scented thoughts
as my mind peeled
drawn into segments pithy and secretive,
pieces i could look at
and not venture a taste
any sweetness gone
acrid juice spilling over lingering images
this fight so ancient
could break me down at the yoke
leaving a harvested husk
and no resonance,
only to be lifted skywards
coffee grew cold
mat still empty