Ode to the wolves

Once upon, between the river veins of the mountains,
among the pine hairs on its head,
under a lucent dark-eyed white moon,
we were the wolves.

With frantic fur and eyes that formed clouds that thundered,
howling hectic love and freedom like
rebeled angels on the outskirts of Heaven,
there us, o' my friends sweet, the wolves.

Cobalt was the blood surging the twisting lips,
the roaring hips, electric as Tsunami
clashing the bulwark of Zeus's temple,
of the wolves at moon's conquest.

Charring in the glass of sharp eyes,
the crimson bouquet of rose flames, a scarlet sun on earth
battling with light in darkness its Selene sister,
in the summer of the wolves.

Surrounding the pray with fierce dance
by mad movements and hymns of passion at the
melody of emerald forests endless,
wolves, wolves, crazy wolves.

With fangs wild, yes! wild, ripping
into the flesh of the wind and tearing the pyre,
swallowing fire down athirst throats,
sarving of care, lavished by life, us, the wolves.

Lost from world's taming, away from time's telescope,
Hidden in woodland's breeding womb,
There we were, I reminisce and praise
The holy grounds of the hallowed wolves.

Holy the soil under the burning paws
galloping circles 'round the fire,
holy the wood blazzing purple the sea of flames
in the whirpool of the wolves.

O! How young and hale the blood torched in us
my friends of warewolf heritige.

How streached for breeze our nostrils were
How wide our pupils welcomed life,
How strong the souls sailed to the skies.

O! Sweet friends o' mine,
the children of Moon and linage of Luna,
my friends, my brothers, my sisters,
my pack,

I remember

Once upon, between the river veins of the mountains,
among the pine hairs on its head,
under  a lucent dark-eyed white moon,
we were the wolves.



god comes and he spills my dame blond shoes on the floor..-

mom told me not to write poems about god so I don't anymore
just as god doesn't write poems about me on his front-garden door
"look at the lilies!" mama said to baby-me "look at the lilies
that god grows in his front-garden; look how they all bow on their lily-knees!"
"but mama" said baby-me "why do all the lily-mouths say always please?"
"because" mama said "a bended knee, means a humble plea"
"humble", to baby-me, sounded like a hubba-bubba bubblegum bumblebee
so baby-me said, "if I'm ever gonna have a hubba-bubba bubblegum bumblebee
I'm gonna name it humble!" so mama said to me - the baby "but honey,
never forget that that which squeezes honey, also stings its thorns so deeply"
but baby-me didn't hear this for a nosey fly flew through my nose
into my loose-laced baby-blue shoes and lounged on the floor playing poker
while it blew smoke-rings through jacks of spades and queens of hearts
"i don't like flies" frowened I, the baby, to mama "their wings smell of pee."
"so you would feel that you're-in danger and that they spread history of feecees and urine"
the voice of moma flowed free as the sea in my ear
"why can't fleas be like bumblebees?" baby-me, posed the inquiry to momma.
momma slowly turned towards me and droped down on both knees,
("momma is a lilly!" is what the baby which was me thought upon the sight)
layed her petals on my shoulders and her pistil in my pupils
and the ovule of her mouth spoke as thus:
"for god made both flowers and feecees, both bumblebees and fleas,
 flowers and feeces sharing the same earth - flowers feeding ferrets,
ferrets freeing feecees, feecees fertilizing fields, fields forming flowers -
bumblebees and fleas sharing the same flight - flight for fleas, flight for bumblebees-
but although all these, never will we find a flea float for a flower
nor a bumblebee flee foreby feecees"

now momma-lilly lays in the front-garden with all the other knees of lillies;
and I - no more a baby - I lounge on the floor at the front-garden door
playing poker while blowing smoke-rings through jacks of spades and blonde queens of dame hearts
while writing poems about god
and waiting for the hubba-bubba bubblegum bumblebee named



sleeping naked
tonight i dream
to discover
what color my skin is


The story of the happpiest and saddest man on earth

After 6 months he meets with his girlfriend in an old familiar town. They set an hour and a meeting place. All day, he is psyched to meet her at, let's say noon, 12 o'clock. He buys chocolates, flowers, whatever, and at 12 he arrives there and sees her on the other side of the road. She spots him too. They run to each other. They hug in the middle of the road. A car enters the story and crashes them both.

Next day, at the hospital.

She died. He didn't.

He did lose his memory though. Of everything that happened only that day.


Several years later, the man still gets up in the morning, taking the same costume, buying chocolates,
the same flowers, with the same eagerness and happiness harvested in 6 months that now has grown wild, crazy, mad crops, and goes to the same location, at the same time, waiting for the same girl.

The same girl that died in his embrace, crashed by a car several years ago.

Each and every day, the happiness slowly scrubs itself off of his heart with every passing minute, the same confusion instals everytime at the same passing 39 minutes, the same people looking at him, knowing everything he's going to do without him knowing, the same bench he sits on when dispair settles in his soul-sofa, the same places he goes asking about her, the same hand on his shoulder of a man that has to tell him something, the same hospital room he's placed in, the same look in his eyes as he hears the same story of his love, the same pictures of the car crash site, the same death in her eyelid dancing, the same tear in his eye trembling, the same denial and the same "why?" unawnsered, the same sadness of a world in awe, the same collapse against the same cold wall, the same dream that she's not there at all.


Several hours later, the man gets up in the same another morning.



I believe I should have been
a woman
but there weren't any more
female bodies avalible at the time
so they made me
a lesbian woman and put me
in a man's body

that was about as good as
my soul lawyer
could get

every man that writes poems
has lesbian woman souls

except Ginsberg
he wasn't lesbian


the anatomy of a word cannot be
contained in any books, encyclopedias,
webpages or internets,
the flesh of a word is composed of
infinitisimal quantic fibres that connect 
themselves through uncountable synapes and
nerves, each one, hypersensitive,
conected to millions, trillions, fuckadillions
of networds linked
together and result
in what we know 
as a meaning
which every single human being
on the planet and in outerspace
- all six of them - 
have an individual unique method
of penetrating its tight vagina sense gateway

we often do this
we often hurt
we, the sword-weilders,
the sense-seekers,
we sense words
use s-words
make s-incisions,
we, the doctors
we, the surgeons,
the urging surgeons,
we cut into each other
in an attempt to seal
through word surgery,
only to fail in understanding
organisms and produce
hemoragies and ruptures
and evetually
silence therapy

silence therapy - which kills
silence therapy - which heals
silence therapy - chemotherapy

we further study and research
these procedures
untill we will succeed
in killing the listeners
and reviving the dead

we, the surgeons,
we, the urging surgeons
we, the "human"



vreau sa tai
trei luni lemne
trei lemne luni


Stuff lift weights and they work out

back again into this old pool
my neck is wet on the inside
skinny dipping in fat lies
I've been burning through whiskey sipping
it's all my fault
I've been feeding them
only fast-food and little thought
gotten so fat and lazy inside of me
they can't move one finger
too big to squeeze out my neck
"get out" I yelled
"I'm not afraid anymore
get out"
their earwax wall was impenetrable
slimy slobs of shame clogging peace

Yoko Ono marched in silently
preaching love to all my cells
"hello John"

I got scared,
terrified, petrified
tried to hide under rocks
three rocks and a fifth
had to spill it all out
it's no way to welcome Ono
got up on my drunken sorry skinny ass
looked in the mirror
still looking in the mirror
I have a beard on my face
'cause I hope when I'll shave it I'll become someone else
I wear glasses
'cause I can't see things in perspective
I have a humpback
'cause I'm not a vertical person
Yoko is staring at my ass in the mirror smiling
I hate the mirror
hate it cause it shows me the way I am
should shave
should get lenses
should sit up straight
should go the gym
so i'll burn their calories
have to start lifting weights
stop reading books
weights are always honest and
straight forward or upwards
with no words

her eyes say more things than her mouth does

should start lifting weights so things will work out
no more word-out
should start fat dipping in skinny lies
'n dipping lies in skinny fat
'n fat 'n skinny 'n whiskey
'n lies 'n cherry cheese cake pies she
bakes with her eyes

been running all day on the treadmill
got nowhere
got one big calorie off my soul though
the room is warm with pies
just pies
she heard the door-crack when
I entered
no wax walls
she said
"hello John"