scared crow

my mouth
is full of light bulbs and
mosquitoes
and little pieces of china
with blue ink on them
full of huge pieces of junk
old biplanes
german counts
whiplashes
river goddess from Afghanistan
that come into my bed at night
and spit water
and love songs
and little riddles
made of horns and rotten wood

full of dirty muddy
boots
and broken glasses
and old photos
with naked women
that offer you
their bubble breasts
and their warm groins
near the drunken fathers
and the feathers
of angry little black parrots
from Antigua Y Bermuda
old phonographs
and old aunts with wigs made of monkey hair

ballerinas pale
as pages of smoking paper
with little tin soldiers crying their
long lost soul
in their deep blue veins
like lapis lazuli
and all those statues of
greek mysterious priestess
blonde and yellow
playing the conga
and the marimba
and the zoetrope
images of whales
and tidal waves
and beetle nuts
under the tongue

under the glass lands
the trees
the reflections on silver mirrors
of Cambodia
the humid
box
of mahogany

giraffes with tiny legs
carry us
to whatever the
ship
sinks
and the water
enters in our beautiful lungs
so gently
that you smile
and I think of you
and my whole body trembles

Venterommet

I am on my knees on the grey carpet.

I am drinking leisurely the air of a white fan.

I hold it with my two hands and
say your name through it.

I hear the way my voice sounds
hitting the blades
coming back to me
bouncing in the empty walls
in the Hawaiian plastic dancer
in the empty bottles
distorted like a broken glass
almost like a piece of plastic
singing: “I am not gonna feed you anymore,
I have to count my pearls under the floor,
I ain’t gonna feed you anymore,
I can’t stand your knocking in my door”

I raise my head
and taste the dim light coming
through the window

shades like bars
dancing really slowly with the air

thick
humid
angry air