set the night on fire like the living sunpreach me desire, put it on my tonguei’ll find my way, i’ll find my wayi’ll find my way on the run knead me with your fingers and with your thumbbreathe me with your lips and with your lunggive me this day my daily breadi can feel your brain inside my head see the midnight moon come make a movesee the midnight moonlight shining throughi’ll find my way, i’ll find my wayi’ll find a way over you / back to you prinde a noite como o sol viventepredícame o desexo, pono na miña…

deep grey sea, big moon blackstorm in torment, fang’d attackwind whipped dunes, sands flung fartravellers jumping out the carmountain howl, hairs on neckpurple sky black silhouettebroiling clouds, snake-crack thunderfull wolf all black, runs on hungertownsfolk shaking, windows shutteredcold wet sand in drains and gutterswolf paw wolf claw deep impressionshadowmouth seaslops shouts aggressioncrashing crazy, rhumspent piratesdriving us from wet to drynesssmugglers cove, candles spittingtaking swigs with bits of grit in every question a statementevery action a threatlaugh loud, look outslit throat – death Paranoia, wolves, the sea, the moon…

the waters in their wild course warned me; begins the book of history snakes and dragons sit upon the floodland lowlanders are living in the trees highlanders have taken to the uplands digging out the mountains to make caves the birds and beasts and savage dangerous creatures are constricted to the land above the waves the kingdom in the middle inundated shun recruited yao for to employ reduce these wild waters into order drive the snakes and dragons with your ploy the waters of the jiang, the huai and the he and the han the dangers and obstructions being removed;…

choose a browning stunted treeplace a ring of weeds therebless it as it rots and dieswatch the burrs shoot out and risebeautifragilous tree stalk caught in the windthe wind’ll knock you over if you stand too thinthe ground will eat you up if the wind dies downthe tree stalk shivered as the sunshine grinnedhow can i help you without any water?how can i get there without my foots?take this seedling to be your daughtertouch this future with your rootsbeautifragilous music heard in the breezetrees are up a-rustling as it ripples through the leavesa whistle from a cloud would persuade you…

i like that loosely falling hair lightly tucked behind the ear that makes the wind seem so severe in the early morning light i like that pretty pointed finger maybe pointing at a thing or maybe heavy with a ring like a dewy blade of grass i like that chunky laden flavour that swings about with your behaviour like the fragrance of arabia like the jasmine of japan i feel a softly surging force that could calm a nervous horse i feel my heartblood gently course when my wars are in your hand i like your cheeks that billow out…

hello, i’d like to offer this story of when i was studying in london in 2010, and a french girl i liked couldn’t make her channel tunnel train ticket back to france so she gave the ticket to me. and so i went to paris for a few days and tried my hardest to be bohemian. enjoy, waby

freshest of winds, tingling skin hair is being spat out and swallowed back in wind-water cry from the small of the eye tear from the tear duct streams to the ear bloodblister lips, fingerless fingertips the creature the cold is, laughs as it whips a nugget of warm in the pit of the arm dig down into it and smother the palm this poem has a nice title, i think

why aren’t i a hero?isn’t everybody a hero?no! nobody’s a hero!a lady came in and spoke chinesei was burning to ask her this question:are you the rocks and sand beneath my feet?yes, we are the rocks and sand. i had a few dre:am poems in china that explored an interesting surreal side of life. i always enjoyed have a dre:am poem

beijing is living in pink and grey. people are as slow as their cold fingers. rub at them on the metro. rub at them on the bus. all the buildings are grey, save for the pink ones. housing is pink or grey, skyscrapers are grey, with shimmers of pink. the mists are a deathly grey that swallow every horizon, and swallow the buildings. the streets are grey as tarmac is grey and the pavement is grey as paving stones are grey. the sun is big and pink, in the grey sky, or big and bloody, in the pink sky. the…

from your old callused hand to the last living strand of hair that sprouts feebly like black sunbaked seaweed with earlobes enormous and eyeballs a-milky these wrinkles put dimples all over your flesh crawling in mongst the shadows of large concrete buildings and rooting the gutter for edible matter which is torn in your hands by pain-quaking fingers and prodded and poked into toothless dark places where bleeding black gums weary of smiling pound out the mixture into acid bile i pity the monster that crawls from your lips when your life is no longer and your tongue is for…

-the wind was seething, heavy. -after waking, and gazing at the pummelled window -i pulled my patchwork desert gear into a bag. -i borrowed some sandals, a bike, and ate a healthy bowl of noodle. -then peddled scowling at the wind. -in the town, in the open maze of buildings, -the sands were kept at bay. -but i rode out: north and west and then south after a bit. -i pushed through the stinging screaming, -past great shallow rivers, dust roads, donkey carts, snipped and snatched dialogues. desert gear: -a cloth cap pulled low -sunglasses -a palestinian chequered scarf -on…

the hat was a little too smug the morning turned into a bug with my freehand i waveddown a fastspeeding car and poured into the door from a jug the morning incredibly thin the sun scuttled up with a grin the black leather bag with its money and buckles hung grasped by the scruff in the wind the driver spun round in his seat controlling the beast with his feet his face looked sarcastic but covered with plastic his tung was a sprung slab of meat i was sprawled in the back of the cab like a lazy and arrogant…

follow the weed smoke. here 3 boys sit on a bench by a fence in a field with a hedge and a road and a row of young houses they are grinning they are talking they get serious somewhere walking then they joke when they smoke follow the weed smoke. here’s a girlfriend with a boyfriend rolling joints up in the morning on the bed by open window sunlight streaming through the curling silky grey and white and swirling from the ember to the ashtray undulating upward cascade follow the weed smoke. carpenter stands under awnings sawdust falls like stardust…

enter the field of the galloping stallionkicking up mud like a young rapscallionclods of mud in the clean cut airnostrils flicker while the white eyes glareflaming mane and thumping legswarily edge back, back to the hedgeviolin bow tail, violin wailhoofprint, horseshit, horseshoe trailstrange thing with the wigwam skinbucktooth beast with the habsburg chinhorse in the gorsehorse on the heathhorsey breath mingles overhorse mouth teethenter the field of the galloping stallion i roughly consider this poem the first ever poem i wrote, or at least the first poem i kept. it begins my poetry book poemario 1. i still remember the…

mis letras a español, de los albumes the cloud (LA NUBE) y my blue tempers (MIS TEMPERAMENTOS AZULES). traducciones por el mismisimo güeivi éliot con ayuda de meli. burning hot coffeea swanmountain sea & desert treepoisonsnowliverrollerlightning songbenidorm todaydark eyesst. catherineella gravitygood morninghimalayablues noirdrugstxtpinstripe trousersmirrorblack sheep moanpequeño huracántrainno feelings + little fish BURNING HOT COFFEE BURNING HOT COFFEE 10:59 13/08/2020 when i wake upon the good side of my bedon the good side of my bedon the good side of my headi rememberthe bad things that you saidthe bad things that you saidthe bad things in my headand a smile breaks…

7 sep 2024 ripple-watching a stone thrown in a slow fish shows his slicing fin the circles move through solid time the trees reflect in broken lines the branches climb the waves come close they touch the land the meaning grows buried in my heart my problem buried in my chest the truth opening my eyes to spot them my old age, my death, my youth the ripples like a gong of water the water is my body calm the ageless answers of the morning turn my aimless body warm i love this life, these swallows dancing love is green…

Este diario fue escrita por la gran escritora y amiga mía Amanda Trip, sobre sus viajes por centro America. Good read! En 10 días voy a estar en la península de Yucatán. Me costó tomar la decisión porque la relación con M es un vaivén. Nuestras conversaciones diarias … diario #1