Monsters to like

A myriad of unspeakable monsters

populate cosmos around us

Visible or invisible,

they do horrendous and beautiful things

to all of us, all the time

in our house, in our body

over the flowers, across the water

everywhere

Green, red, yellow monsters

very large faces

very small details of

unknown pleasures of

unexplainable tastes

Monsters kindly available

to all practices

from murder to rape

from love to hate

Round or squared monsters

Little or giant

fluid or rigid

blue and white

black and grey

under the sun sight

under the moon flight

at noon at night

Bright monsters to see

Juicy monsters to eat

Soft monsters to touch

and sleep with

Why you do not understand

the wonderful nature of monsters?

Why you leave me so alone

in this solitary contemplation?

Why could not you receipt

these so tiny, so great,

so graceful beings?

Are you blind?

Are you insensitive?

Are you cold, iced?

Are you human?

Not to be

any one knows the darkness of

a simple life in the space of stars

everyone wishes a bright

moment in the night of sky

no one reaches to teach to me

the way to become the knight of light

being so, I go

being simply nobody

How I see the world, at least exactly now

Things was not been made anymore
and carelessly
things are being throwed away

It is the chaos
it is the rain over rain
it is the groove
of my own grave

It is the time of no sense
it is the space of no matter
where I'll fall
where I'll die
where I'll may
be finally
and precisely
insane

But it is not good
and it is no more soon
to do
anything

Things are melting themselves
in a kind of no reality
in a form of no sense
in a mood of no-being
in something like nothing.

Unique thing to see

And, yes, time is going
year by year
up to all the seconds
have been gone
as diligent ants
in their little tracks

And seconds are not so straight
they round and round of
And atoms are not so real
they have some no stuffness

And then
No more than anything now
No crazy people around
No beautiful crimes or sounds
No tiny particles of whatever thing
just and only darkness

Hard language

This is a rude language
That's another one
No one soft enough to support
the last word
to be said

But it will be there
alone and silent
not to be said
not to be seen
not to be knew
but to be

At least nothing

The last thing
I would want to hear
Was a name of me, myself

The first light
I would want to see
Was a spine in sky

The last thing
I would want to love
Was a falling stone

The first thing
I would try to do
Was a man, a dry man, in the desert
Of the Universe.

To be
Forever
Alone.

The End’s song sung now

(March 1976)

Day will come when you will say, with me,

In choir with the humanity:

Quietness took account of my being...

Happiness beat to my door...

They have ceased, the torments,

They are mine, the days and nights.

My time is pure and clean,

Free of the specters that populated it.

Unnecessary to speak,

'Cause nobody exists to hear,

And absolute silence does not deserve to be

broken...

My house is a cold one,

As I always desired it.

The winds no more fustigate my life,

Only survives a carrying breeze of perfumes of ancient times...

Across obstructed channels of sex

Only echoes of a time of

Hunger and high prices,

Necessity and scarcity,

Ruined deposit of hormones.

In the palate, no more that

Ancient anxiety,

But a wasteland taste... and good!

The taste of the planet.

My heart is a calm heart,

Because an empty heart,

That holds the biggest emptiness:

Love, volatilized;

The sting of hate, down;

The thirst of death, satisfied!