The Really Useless Inutility

"I am filming paraplegic firefighters
doing their job while whistling a tune.

my books state the obvious, indeed, but i get
published
and you?"

you see, i am no writer. in fact, i don't write.
i look for no consent, you people cannot give it to me.
i can get it by disturbing you, by distracting you, by making you, me.
by making me a thousand little pieces while i reconnect calling
each and everyone of your names

i can get it looking at the whole of society, of man, of its past
from above
from below
from inside.

i can gather clues, from your eyebrows, from your dress and from that twitch in your voice.
and then i can put them together and give myself the consent
everyone gives, with one mean or the other
to themselves

Plexiglass River City

an inconsistence in color
is vaguely familiar
to the eye, this time of the year.

yes it's mid-April again, and it's like the world turned
slowly but steadily those six hours i wasn't waking
and landed my bed under another sky
on another plexiglass river city
another new new street

the corners look the same
the streetlights haven't changed
but the smiles, oh the smiles
the skirts and the ankles
those timid shoulders

this also has its disadvantages, don't believe
in what the seasonal anglo-saxon says.
i haven't spoken to strangers tonight
and, inevitably, i feel as i wasted a day

Some Prowess In Literary Expression

Some prowess in literary expression
is needed
every time you blink an eye
some time is essential
to buffer the point to where
we decide right and wrong

we're walking downhill
with a burned hand and a promise of love
we're all running from something
that came up as a place
we lost so long ago

some very little awareness
is needed, just to watch
just to observe
to lend an ear
to all the whispers that surround us

like that time you slept on the airport floor
listening to all those changes in C minor

we're all sleeping beauties
from very close
you can hear our breath, our heavy breath
on the pillow our mother gave us

and just before. just before you make that final decision
you make a right on that final fork
you look at it all:
it's been good. it's been good.

In between the rain and you

i sighed when i noticed
that it was just too late
that i would've had to kiss you

i thought it wonderful that
it would've just been perfect
if we'd had another hour between the last drop
of rain and the last drop of whiskey

i would've waited long for that
it kept me sad for days
to know that when you want to wait, you never can.

and it's just as bad as when you can't.