***

you, you, who had the arrogance to look inside me, to look at that so little part of myself that I've allowed you to see and declare that you know me, you had the courage to come and say "hello" with that so familiar voice and words. as if we were old friends.have you ever seen me dancing? no. have you ever seen me dying? no. have you ever seen me crying? no. so a stranger you are. not because I don't know you. but because you don't know me. so , please, say "hello" as a stranger should.

amounts

it took the cut of several knives to make my body inherit life
and it took a man's hands and words to make me kill my other self
and dream in pastels
but still with fear.
I retained that privilege
since we seemed to enjoy so much theorizing your anxieties.
enough is not enough if there's not plenty of it
and I had enough of you
not to desire for more
but there's wasn't plenty of you for me
not to need more.

futility

what good in standing in this skin and waiting
if there's no you for me to wrap my limbs around?
what good in sharing kindness to others
if there's none of you here
in this great, great room of my soul
to balance my existence?
I've got moist cinnamon soil on my floor
and pieces of blue velvet sky on my celling,
jasmine tea pours on my neck and shoulders,
but if you don't have the courage to enter
what good in growing roots to all this?

little guevaras

we draw lines. moist graffiti on old buildings. we write that so obnoxious street poetry. we have long hairs and short skirts. we preach for the holly sweet tomatoes and the raw and fresh cucumbers. no funky instant dressing in our 100% ecological salad. we mock. we extract the vocals from the shriek of bombs. we rip and prick them swollen bellies with our compassion. we write the new Evangelia with a www. in front. we throw bottles in the crowd. plastic water wrapped in mineral bottles. we save ideas. such great jesuses we all are. we stick our crosses with sticky superglue and eat burgers. we give birth to great revolutions with a little help from a six pack. we suck red from a bloody marry. we point the finger but we have two others crossed. we have our little red stars on our t-shirts. and we don't stay on line to buy a loaf of bread. we screw the system. and we feel good. fuck it real hard in the ass. and feel good about it. too bad we can't see that the system is kind of gay and it kind of likes it.