Inertia of a stethoscope swinging from an almond tree

Old Works (06-2012) The white of this place always hurts. The floor is white, the ceiling, the doors. White-sheet-ghosts wander all along the corridor, looking really busy – but I know they really aren’t. I myself am dressed in white, which would be unusual if I weren’t here – a white that confuses non-white-dressed people, and spurs them to ask …

To All My Valentines

Dear “boys who have ever loved me” Dear “boys I have ever loved” Dear “couple of girls, too” Dear “smashed cactus” Dear Alexander Pope: Have you ever seen a pumping human heart? Have you put a single finger on it? Do you know how it feels? (That is the Greatest Taboo) Shhhhhhhh. I love you. Don’t get deceived by my …

Beyond Anatomy – Lesson 1

Do you know those porcelain cheek girls?   Maybe once I was one of them, but they’ve never had the guts to excuse themselves by saying, “Don’t take it personally, but you are such a tedious specimen,” without twisting at least twice their tongues.   And let them know just because I am not omnipotent I’m not remaining that forlorn: …

Jenny Holzer and I

I found her on a bench in Venice. This one, I think.  I touched the marble and read these words twice. And I knew somebody, somewhere, had thought about my vital situation in that right moment and had carved every letter. I WAS the particular person ALL THAT was written for. I was anyone. I’ve been trying… trying to cut …

Para Airyn

Hear the cry of the strings Wait for the echoes time Smell the children’s breath Hear the pulse of the drums and sincronize. Follow with us the swallow trail. Follow with us. Condors meet nightingales tonight. Do I believe in this? They shall survive me. My poetry is not soft enough, just woeful, twisted, lost in space and time – …

Skin

Cloth won’t save you this time, so let it glide along your Great Wall and reveal your true nature. You, malleable reptile, can’t stop it from exhaling your second breath (salty, savoury, silent), shuddering at their touch. So why bother resisting? Just let it grow, thicker and older, pathetically attached to the surface, a million soundless martyrs born to turn …