perfect sleep

the foolish dreams;

only dreams
as painful as
stolen innocence
of a virgin mind

the one thing
he ever wanted
the one thing
he’d never have

an accident of time…

the less you know
the better you sleep.
– i don’t sleep too well

am protecting
a basterdized dream
and, all i had to do
was wake up
into this slow death

she was mine
in her own way
i was hers
in my own way

-an old testament

we sit at the corner.
my friends build me a wall.

they used to say,
they drank to numb their pain
now they say,
they drink to forget it pained

to the music
of the great composers…
take them out
of their misery

nobody knows your heart
am higher than heaven.

the artist .
the creator .
the god !

do you understand
the poetry of his soul…

do you see why
Quentin Tarantino
executes his characters
in a final ensemble
of guts, glory
and gore ?

the devil
– the detail

luciferan ambition
– aiming too high ;
beyond your competencies

it is not good
for a man
to be alone
a good woman
who can find ?

my love’s too short
to share;
this is the drama
of a tragic comedy

the wealthy
never talk of you;
let me know
if and when
i write poems
on love true

to dream of
a wedding is
a metaphor of death.
In my home church
meat is a symbolism
of nearing grief !

as i stare blankly
at these empty bottles
a fortress crumbles
staggering friends tumble,
succumbing to the poison
and the oblivion of time

you can’t say i never tried.
no, you won’t say
i never tired of
allergies to
the good things in life

why is sleep so elusive
death is the perfect sleep

the poet collapses in a heap
fade to black

-the end-


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