FIFTY PILLS

Explaining the rebellion is entering to an old land
taken by birds
imprisoned in time
where the masks are born on the dawn’s sharp edge

Your feet … loving my absence
and I, inside, in a hole, drinking

The longing for the tremor of your prayers
cover me with the invisibility of a glass drunk on rum
with the wind seducing my throat
I   W A K E   U P

                               Like a gift from the fear.

LUCIDITÉ

The smell of your nape
is the delicate art of vice
hidden under the bed
like evident oblivion of your brief spasms
like the instincts that stop the mornings
and reduce them to an hourglass that never stops
to help the screams of your pleasure

a reptile now slowly moves under my mutilated shadow