Funeral Parade of Roses


Mothers use a variety of masks.
And dream sweet dreams.
have been erased.

All definitions of cinema
seldom expose themselves.
a long, long time ago.

…roses are falling,
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

Your hand.
would sink under water.
You’re getting old.

faces suffer loneliness
Something is wrong with me.
In this area, yes.

Well, my senses become paralyzed.

but the next moment I see nothing.
I feel like I’m floating up

is portrayed beautifully.
My ears are humming.

I smoke heavily.
That kind of feeling.
I want more of it.

I am the wound and the dagger,
I don’t feel like I exist,
I hate to leave you.

Don’t cry. No tears for me.
I’ll decorate my room with flowers.
Some masks

I don’t want to lose her.
What a mix of cruelty and
handsome boys.

Your sighs say more to me
of logic and dynamics…
…or whether it will last forever.

I’m floating up from my bed…
You’re in love with her.

He believed all the time
The ground here is sinking.
Come and keep me company

The outlines are always changing.
It’s meaningless.
That you’d desert me

Of course. They’re just scratches.
Give me time.
I’ll be waiting.

last night.
He was…
Not like ecstasy,


A Tale of Winter


People who were thought dead,
See little Jesus.
standing like stone with thee.
then the minuses.

Like perfume jars.
and winter ruins.
A soul dreams.
Faith brings her to life.
by letting you go.
In Nevers.

One can rarely read people’s hearts.
It’s a cathedral.
A slip of the tongue.
I do pray for your happiness,
I haven’t told him.
it’s superstition.

It’s darling.
what matters.
All that’s over,
there’s no religion.
Almost word for word.

Making love with him doesn’t mean
”Roars, screams, bites.
You give her false hopes.
A child and some photos.
There’s love and love.
at bedtime.

it was Sunday.
you squeezed my hand so hard.
from loving someone else.
When he strikes a match,
She exists.

seems warm upon her lip.
Descend, and take you by the hand…
and from your sacred vials pour…
In that terrible depth,
of your heart.

I didn’t lie.
I felt entirely myself.
was condemned,
If a spirit lives in many bodies,
It’s dim, but it exists.
and it did.

For me, a man’s beauty lies
If this be magic,
it hurts me to leave you, too,
He’s ”physically unfit for marriage”
More like the sailor of my dreams.
I’ll never love you enough.

Street…of pretty mittens
I love you,
Beautiful walls.
sometimes have these illuminations
I’ll draw the curtain.
but a hundred times stronger.

I love nothing about him
no less.
Your purse.
It is beautiful.
I’m not.

Isn’t that the Venus by…
the love of your life.
Yes, behind the trees.
Beauty’s my business.
She embraces him.
until Monday.

The first time I went to Nevers,
I’ve had lucid moments,
It does me.
See, I’m inarticulate.
And here’s the bedroom.
Without the supernatural,


The Blue Room


you achieved full sexual satisfaction.
how I could make her suffer.
the medication
of the mouth.

we came to the conclusion,
She died when she was a baby
about it.

Thanks to the little circles.
She knew his days were numbered.
I’ve wasted because of you.

When I think of all the years
I remember a young boy,
People get divorced every day.
At the funeral everyone knew

I thought she was cold,
I meant your sexual relationship
A spoon with traces of jam.
some saline solution,

Didn’t you desire her?
In bed at night I used to wonder
We love each other.
but thought about other things.

you wrote, “I haven’t forgotten you”.
the dates of my periods.
properly recorded.
a death sentence.

She stuttered.
Enjoy the holiday.
She wouldn’t have cried for long.
I thought about it a lot. I wanted

From beginning to end.
knew we were meant for each other.
I got undressed as usual,
…for causing the death of…

I see a cross.
A drive belt.
Your mouth is bleeding.
Because you used to kiss

I suppose you burned those letters
Emergency closure.
And when she took a lover…

circles mean that I see every month.
No doors, no windows,
Children don’t go to funerals.
Hers. I’ve already told

it was because you had disappeared.
After some time,
Our love, our promises.




She’s a bottomless swamp
and empty tunnel.
a god-awful coward.
and a world forever out of reach,

All I saw was the nightie,
It settles in your soul.
resurrection itself
Mouth to mouth, heart to heart,

The fog gets into the corners,
those blond plaits,
those tinkling voices,
stories of disintegration.

One must return to beauty.
I cling to nothing,
Two hands clasped together,
Mourning for you, darling

What’s wrong with him?
in trying to speak
the madness of hopelessness.
moaning like the doves of the valleys,

That woman is…
is just one form of ruin
inside are plague and famine.
From every swing and turn.

So it was this awful inner tension
about that unnameable world.
They shall throw their silver
under the pewter sky

glances that raise the dancer
her tenderness, her faithfulness,
Perhaps a single crack
with which she clung to me

Then she crawled into the corner
and counted them.
She’ll have a different life.
Because stories end badly.

She stood crying in her nightie.
The package has been opened.
and more ruthless
I’m not attached to anything

knees shall become weak as water.
We’ll know what to cling to
I still don’t understand.
somebody who could make me believe

I have my safety margins.
Never again
I bring the most wicked
shall go to the mountains,

Rediscover life again.
just like I’d never loved her.
it is hidden by a light and warmth
And there won’t be another

that frail body
the pitiful effort
It’s finished
don’t count on temporary ruin.

star to star.
it would be the unforgivable end
The joy of great things.
once this world explodes.

Irrevocable disintegration.
all the consequences…
who swallows you up
that warms the heart.

I know that I’m alone.
Just wailing without moving.
I couldn’t believe
something deeper




Everything gets destroyed.
whenever he heard your broken voice.
Her wings were broken,
this pile of stones is home,

Forgive me for wanting to cry,
without him touching me.
the poets aren’t the ones
with a bottomless pit in your belly.

The red ants were eating
They think you are in heat.
Just do like this, look.
in your fucking silence.

If I can take your woman’s clothes off
We stare at the ruins
even if your body doesn’t obey you.
Well, that’s how I feel,

And talking about loneliness,
Time for bed.
derelicts, diabetics, sellouts,
in that fucking cage you built.

That’s why Dad cried
From within,
drawing miniatures
and the damn things never end.

The crane was barely breathing
into the highest branches of the trees
and we mourn him
and the intimacy of the wells.

I remember my grandma telling me,
They won’t kill me. Don’t worry.
Is it true you once made Bob Dylan cry?

Her boyfriend.
listened to you all the time.
crushed her skull.

The guy was bleeding out,
from the open wound,
and I found this poem
flowing out of its side.

I’m dying.
for living a lie.
This is a terrible loss
of the spaces we grew up in.

we can lie on the warm ground
There’s no one here.
And say things with truth from inside.

I taught you about Rilke.
to express our profound regret
finders keepers.
You let the wrong ones in

people with inferiority complexes
shoot it in black-and-white
Forgive me, I feel like crying,
Yes, color blind and dumb.

He thinks the whole world
was his mouth.
next to a vulture about to eat her,
It’s the smell of the strike.

Dedicated to the friend
who watches the trains departing.
and their symbiotic genes
are like filthy rags.

The cassette player is broken.
covered in mud.
I was going over my notebooks,
and they are warm.

So many collapsed fragments.
and you didn’t pick me up.
You said, “That feeling.”
It belongs to me and you

Little seals.
one on top of the other,
Another damn moment of silence.


Heart of Glass


A whole forest of stone.
I become light, lighter, lighter.
dance in the red glow…
with the words scattered around…

Naked in bed again.
She is cooling off,
When she dismounts,
For many years they gaze

I see the trees burning like matchsticks.
a juniper bush in the twilight…
The lake is dyed red.
A rocky island far out in the sea,

Yes, she may wear her hair down.
in the tumbling waters.
Tell her I no longer wish

The chaos of the stars
crumbles and collapses.
I feel an undertow,
…and live in it.

I need a glass to contain my blood,
Then it becomes dark and still.
relinquished from the world.
…and thrown into the lake,

there is war in every house.
like a heap of stones.
Your backbone is not soft.
…like tree branches.

…day after day,
But, like sleep-walkers,
People become ill…
and a big island half drowns.

You won’t collapse
get away when the snow lies.
then she will not crack any more.
…will pine for the

The lilac bushes…
That is the pure ingredient.
I fly upwards.
I do not see any more.

a green and yellow dust arises.
pathetic and senseless.
…with a burning branch in his hand…
surprised when she returns.

I have to go to the woods.
Where the black box drops,
The sea rises
And look, the other falls

For years he stood alone,
Glass has a fragile soul.
The glass for the lake
Bring it in.

He who has smooth hands will be slain.
like a sign of hope…
I must see something again.
and then the earth.

It is so dark.
It is unstained.
Your prayer has worked a miracle.
my backbone had crumbled.


La Ville Des Pirates


Day breaks.
every 10 years.
these magnificent seascapes.
Under the carpets.
Under my tongue…
important blood stains
and jewels.

You are full of lies,
Heart of snow.
you ache for another
Bite my skull.
with the bottom of the sea.
and the wind from the cemetery.

My life flows like honey.
I like long stories.
I lived reasonably happy
I remember nothing.
The corpse cries for the corpse.
we’re craving something else.
Lapis-lazuli of the shadows

The absolute happiness of love.
when everything becomes metallic.
He crushed himself on the rocks.
which writhe beneath my skin.
You have besmirched my face with a
A million thanks.
Life is beautiful.

a miserable childhood.
within the… walls of… the castle.
He decided to enter
Void of my void.
I have two loves,
less grey, less dull.
atavistic and salvific.

We take part in this greyness, don’t we?
Such ideas the stars trigger
bloody and nocturnal,
like the smell of church candles
Why am I white like this?
like her heart.
in a glass of milk.

the death of his mother.
vespers of hospital blue.
emancipated and mercurial.
and it was the end of the world,
Your aroma diffuses itself…
She never existed.
We never get used to things,

My life may not be recounted with words.
flowing into the sea
by the foul and wicked rainwater
such harsh words slip out,
Today nothing is the same
Thus blind beauty.
in spite of the waves and pitfalls.

I fell very low, I confess.
the family jewels appear
they take light
So many graveyards calling
They were neglecting you.
They decided to break the vase
to make a world

The Virgin of Lourdes doesn’t exist.
sharpens the menstrual organisation
By the hot smell of her confidence.
She could not bear your absence.
the windowpane without glass.
is evanescent and withered.