patterns in white

spray and sweat pouring off my face
down to the cabin
my friend, will you take my sperm in your mouth ?
for me it would mean your absolute love
but for you it would be capitulation
and so we look away
and I stare at the abstract patterns,
the cracks in the white metallic paint.

islands

child woman man :
islands in your mind,
millions of islands.
the sea lions barking,
water eroding and rebuilding,
the bulls tearing chunks of flesh out of one another,
a few decomposers do the rest.
stronger than any stupid little drug.

minutiae

coffee, a glass of milk, breakfast struggling in my stomach,
outside the hammers clanging.
she kissed me this morning
I desired her body under the crisp clothes
denied, I am nervous, muddled
my face set rigidly.

blow by blow

blow by tattered blow,
speaking slowly
chameleon moves
here and there in spacetime
was is could be why not wasn´t shouldn´t couldn´t
don´t or do !

seven

now we are seven
years ?
no, months
and she left me in the hole
she left me with the onions

how it is

you pays your money
you get some beer
you turn to the left
and the cops are still right behind you
you found ecstatic moments
keep looking, only you have eyes

no-one there

Mark left a tape he had recorded.
It was labelled " my last bugle call" and consisted of white noise and the creaking of an armchair. DNA tests revealed traces of his sperm on the tape.