Friday, March 01, 2013

...

What if I can't say what I must say?

What if...

So what?

So.

- S

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Behind Me

The morning of cold tiles;
wet postcards;
barefoot.

 Hand in hand,
sliding together;
the past was new
and the future old.

 Today -
this very day -
I ran to my dreams;
the old town daydreams.

When the sky was wet;
the loose tobacco
and the winter song
were the only cravings.

 ... and in this quite moment,
I hear all the cries
behind me;
around us,
above it all.  

- S 
Toronto - February 27, 2013

Monday, July 23, 2012

Charm

Twenty four hours and more;
once again, she stood there
eyes wide and slippery.

Hands on keys
scrolling down
up, down,
DAMN!
Feeling the miracle
of those words;
heart taking over
her entire body.

Back to the red plant
with desperate eyes,
she regrets the word "charm."

- S
Toronto - July 23, 2012

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Against The World

Seventy seven years ago.
Young and naive.
Thirsty.

Capturing the beauty within their bodies.
The innocence of their spirits.
Such elegance.

Butterflies were free.
Love affairs on fire.
One plus one.

"Two"
was the new beginning.

- S
Toronto - May 15, 2012

Thursday, May 03, 2012

Second Attempt | Version 2

That night.
In rage.
Mid June of twenty eleven.
The moon at its lowest.

I searched for the lost pieces
in empty carafes;
neglecting the thousands
crushed by the hands of cruelty
and the sound of ruthless whips.

In dream,
grapes feud with pomegranate seeds.
Saints hung on a wall.

Under a media storm.
Unwelcome.
I wake up against the morning sky.

The kindest of us all slain.
The victim of ink and paper.
His unspoken mind.

I buried myself
in asylum, in the swamp of
sympathy notes.

Bloody cliché.
Each word bleats its
desire in silence.

And when, when
will the trees flower?
And the smiles glow and the little fish waltz?
Will we ever soak in the lake
where flesh and blood glitter in freedom?

- S
Toronto – March 4, 2012

Second Attempt | Version 1

I remember that night.
Crystal clear.
In rage.
Still.

It was a starry night.
Not the one Vincent painted,
but in mid June of twenty eleven.

And the moon?
At its lowest.

I played my pleasant game;
searching for the lost pieces in empty carafes.
Counting down the countless stars.

Neglecting the heart beats behind the rusty bars,
where thousands of gentle souls are being
crushed by the hands of cruelty
and the sound of ruthless whips.

BASTARDS.

I had an odd dream.
Grapes in feud with pomegranate seeds.
Saints hanging on the wall.
Unlike any fairytale.
Even ours.

BANG.

Alas that “tomorrow” arrived.
Under the media storm.
Unwelcome.

I woke up to the horrified headline;
against the morning sky and
its forthcoming light.

The kindest of us all
flew miles and miles away
to the starry night.

Yes, he was gone.
He, the victim of the ink and paper;
of his unspoken mind.

And I,
I mourned that massive loss.
Buried myself
in asylum, in the swamp of
sympathy notes.

Bloody cliché.
Every word beat the desire in silence.

And when, when
will the trees flower?
And the smiles glow and the little fish waltz?
Will we ever soak in the lake
where flesh and blood glitter in freedom?

I await;
fondly;
with big hopes.

- S
Toronto – March 4, 2012

Monday, April 23, 2012

Something Like That | Version 1

On gentle hills and golden grass,
the wind and the moon played an orchestra.
Her reflection and his, made
contact in the glass.
His arms pinned at his sides,
in her close embrace.
Wildflowers were their only friends.

Let us break the heart of the air, she whispered.
And paint the leaves in green and red,
or colors that don’t exist.
Let us walk barefoot through the years.

One recent morning,
resting against their pillows – floral.
Drinking coffee in bed – black.
Looking good – not great.
No screaming in pain. Quiet as in church.
She wrote a note:
"The butterflies are flying away."

- S
Toronto – April 22, 2012

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Injury Headquarters

Telepathic misdirection;
superhuman drug;
slight overdose of you.

Where would you like to meet?
We try to remember that we are
always becoming popular.

He was naked, remembering?

Looking west;
looking west;
looking west.

Tracks are from
Hiroshima
and species can
replace the host.

- S
Toronto – April 16, 2012

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

in.vul.ner.a.ble | Version 1

My old friend,
hidden behind the city lights;
under the dusty pages of a paper from
October two thousand and four;
veiled in velvet covers;
beneath the memories of
rubber ducks floating in
the bathtub;
ice in your single malt;
inside the box of past tense.

Silence.

And you decided to invade
my dreams.
Why punished me with
news on the misery of your
loved ones and
their breathless existence?
What terrible
punishment.
Why?

Silence.

I only started to forget
the scratches in your voice,
the structure of your lips,
the smell of your hands.
I now smell betrayal.

Shhh.

Don’t take me back to my agonies,
as I refuse to separate;
to ache;
to lose.

Leave me with
my sips on my
Sauvigonon blanc,
dripping down my throat.

I long for a hand-in-hand;
and a smell of hyacinth
to raise paradise.

Full stop.

- S
Toronto – March 25, 2012

Wednesday, March 07, 2012

...

"Listen!
If stars are lit
It means there is someone who needs it,
It means someone wants them to be,
That someone deems those specks of spit
Magnificent!"


-- Vladimir Mayakovsky

Red White

"I'm not interested in the texture of a rock, but in its shadow."

-- Ellsworth Kelly

(Red White - 1962)

Thursday, March 01, 2012

First Night | Version 1

Darkness.
In the wandering hallways
full of memories of a gray era,
all she sees is the old man's face
in a rustic frame.

She smells the dust.
Feels his age; his fatigue.

She puts dark burgundy lipstick on.
Gets lost in the smoke of the shisha.
Closes her eyes to the mirror
and greets the horizon
of the candle lights.

She tastes the battle.
Mirror and candles.

Clawing through her hair,
getting back to the conversation,
she fights the migraine attacks
and dedicates a smile to
human nature.

They all exist;
in different moments.

- S
Montreal – February 17, 2012
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