your age as well doroteo

it's the mask nemesis

but he doesn't stand a chance -and worst-

he doesn't know this

he goes on scheming to act dispassionately

to decide on a course of action

he has access to philosophy and some ettics

he must make sure all genes are fairly

conditioned as the label states it

'to build the block was child's play'

one thing leads to another thought

and he needs to neutralize that condition

made-in-the-fabric of the web excess

live a banale life

suffer its evil...well

but when he reaches the last verse

he forgets the whole thing and what

it means is now suspect of a last stand

whereby the mask enters its nemesis head

and blots out every design figured so...

well

off the wall

when sincalls stir we just flare about

and sashay on ardour to the pyre

sizzling with the prospect of kindling

embers of heaven in conflagration

-no choice's allowed

nor cross voice's heard-

once about to sin all pieties jump off

it's a freeze out and we are all found

collectively mad at the wall we stand

all knowing awaiting to be stoned

breathless from a blast of velvet rock

screeching violas and utter darkness

on the fiery score hopelessly biding

a last minute rally of one crasher

californian fit to scream the fish call

like a password to get us off the rack

and have us back on the street to trot

with a flair scoffing the mean hooks

the sultry proxies the paradise bought

and sold the immolation calls

ride into the sun...that's the fun

ride into the sun…that’s the fun

of someone playing with the dial

the airwaves are filled with laughter

chirps and easier miles per hour

(life’s speed is an abstruse motion

 every second flashes on the charged

 space and cracks the ancient blocks

 dust holds it last

(he who crawls in mud gets enough

 to spit…he may then suspect matter

 ain’t all yet falls prey to its claim

 -it goes something like this…he

 builds sandcastles on the beach…waits

 for the tide to flood it all…gets up

 and happy as he only knows, gets on)

thus you get to palm beach australia

further on awaits you rimini

maybe the red sea –who can tell-

it’s a matter of taste and health

you may know the day’s time and place

though the dial shows you nil…and you

hope for the end of one fine day

when you’ll have to move from zero)

i have waited too for the waves

to break at the angels’ bid –here

it’s radio gaga- and the barge’s

on the way (the dj insists)

we lay back

the sun has set and the sea roars

the deep dark close to the brain…and

to be sure that this day made any

sense (like a road flying birds songs

or the horizon) we must move on

exactly after midnight with total

volition and at our most leisure

life and life only

                  like an epitaph

finally when you discover (distracted
for sure) the outcome of the plot
ruin comes onto you
with its stubborn shove to the edge
and it pushes and pulls you on end...
you try and back off graciously
but on that times-tried bid
it crashes on you
and down you go and this time
it's curtains demise and dissolution
you didn't know that any knowledge
would avail you nothing
that as a completed sentence
it had come to pass
so they carry you to the pit
then everyone goes about the streets
and there may be rays of sunshine
lashing whirrs of love in the breeze

floodin'rain...'diluvio' said my cellmate

 floodin’rain…'diluvio' said my cellmate

there is always rain in the aftermath of love unkind

a burning feat known only when our present tears settle

for nothing less than a full serving and one doubtless score

we are dragged to wash the initial stain –inevitable burden-

from that first graceless fall…we wade in the clear waters

unknown but so inviting like the fruit at hand…and we

are ready to land that shore of fire and feel a million

tongues within our nerves…we ride the rush in the rapids

of the cage grieving our loss...spinning in a whirlwind of rue

sorrow and blame -swept far and away as the heart breaks

and we are made to stand without faith before a real judge

tarnished bloodletter of dregs who begrudges his own take

and before whom we recollect all the things possible fallen

from our hands carelessly…its  blood spills washed away

necessary calls

today i was hoping for one kind reward

all right _strict blankchecks galore but

nothing comes through _somewhere there's

someone scoring from some fool and i am left

on a wait that alights shades by the myriad

in a moment's square as if frozen in time

flat so that its angles are in plain view

-why is that boy standing on the prow?

-he wants to be seen

-but he's in plain sight

-exactly...

the scene is set accordingly and useless-

some wait others suspect _roy said there's no

time to understand nor any certainty at hand

i've had enough with counting blanks today

moments on the pavement thread in the past

bronx ennui with satisfaction in the given sun

and shade _the red dodge at the curb helps

pan tango in jojouka

once he heard the call of pan

he packed his bags with song

and headed roundabout to jojouka

along he found all sort of strings

lullabies and rocking screams

timeless as the rolling sand

he played this vertiginous stream

sailing any choice at hand

the classic the hard the others

beggarly and majestic

until the end inevitable

found him layin' about the pool

he'd found solace from a life of tango

-love and betrayal- the works