textures of rest-lessness

(Beat credit: ChaLee BanKz) 

a road with many bumps,

Myriad of bumps

a bumps INVASION

on the edge crumbling slow into
weird states of desperation,

resignation bounces back in vortex beats
from over-heated concrete,

car light won’tn‘t work, you

sweat, glistening slime trails on the forehead,

sitting in this race car, stowaway
draped with thin skin, high gear,


fake break


desire to go dangerously fast, speed-race pacific highways,
bungee-jump grand canyon chasms

sit in

your reality;

a rattly-as-a-rat chair
on a balcony

somewhere on the globe

the world feels shaky
(& the sunshine doesn’t fit your mood)

instead of gasoline, you sum
the fading traces of black coffee on your tongue

Waste– ink write, heck, focus

on what’s next, write faster

thinking about dignity
the theory of relativity

your heart rate’s jumping up but

not from drive-me-mad lips,
roller coaster tongue kiss-es or
sticky children’s fingers,
painting jam hearts on your cheek

but by life
how it feels, close, so close to the rim
a nervous battle underneath your skin

in all its perforated porousness


over at dVerse Victoria Ceretto-Slotto hosts the Poetics prompt this week…and it’s all about texture….jump over, get inspired, write a poem and join us..



it’s me upon a swing,
endless tuscan sky,
a scraggy dog who wants to play but

i am restless,

trying to wind down from months
of running at the limits,

a million raven,
fast & furiously on a racetrack
through my mind.

I catch the wind, trying
to shut down the voices,

whispering with the olive trees
and realize they’re friends
with silver glistening tongues

stories start unfolding,

tune by tune we play our lives and
i splay wide
amidst the vineyard’s fertile soil.

Listening carefully, nose wet and smooth,
pressed soft against my naked toes he
nods with amber eyes as i take off,

swinging higher to a place
where GPS can’t track me,
grab my sax and

blow the sky cloudless


now this was my first day at the saxophone workshop in tuscany…had a hard time to wind down and my haunt was the swing in the backyard..and yeah…the above pic…that was the view… linking up with emily at imperfect prose

it’s – you don’t play enough..

Scratching the morning with
a sharpened knife i cut myself
to pieces– all tiny parts
that seem irrelevant when
laying lifeless, bleeding out on
white tiled floors —

and a mad sun laughs me silent,

I’m speeding over me,
my streets are covered with
deep holes, camouflaged
by fallen cherry blossoms–

There’s no scent nor
can i feel their flowery pulse and
i don’t sing nor love nor

can i bear that longing for
a lake, for waters make me tremble
with a fluid hand and

“You should cry the ocean deep”
says Time–  lips in a snear

“It’s –  you don’t play enough”
whispers the wind,
paragliding through my hair

and i just wish he wouldn’t stop
until i’m lost in loops in wind-swayed chimes,
until my chambers brim with water gnomes

and i forget my name

until he gently takes me and–

i let him.

Touching Floodland

life’s face phosphorizes ugly
squinched, unhinged & torn
parts of my body
rotting meters deep &
carry grief
in heavy vessels, wounds
fresh & raw with pain, weigh me
shoulders stooped, i

fled here from the city,
drowning in futility & raid, rage
between the dead,
knocking on doors we fight,
tightly locked with steel bolts
hold us until

someone steps
too close and dams burst with
a thunderous crack
face in the mud &
touching floodland,
ripped & split, i’m digging graves
for the pain – less, go, let me –

I know you can’t see – lies
bouncing back like
moon-pale, off-scale skeletons,
a ghastly army, envision decay,
we already stopped
breathing but we still gasp, lying

on our back
with open mouths, body crinched,
fight until someone
throws us back & hoarse-tongued
clumps glued to my neck,
riding back the roots we came

my one shot wednesday poem comes straight from the cemetery where i fled to last week…and yes…after all it was a good time..
due to a business trip my commenting will be a bit delayed…

..grab your pen and join the party over at One Stop Poetry…sign up opens 5pm EST