Friday, November 30, 2012

POETRY: Shiver by Pedro Pires


Your soft, gentile hands stimulate a capable
 trigger that anxiously shoots them down, one by
 one, as the bullet approaches the body, as it
 threatens me, they run, they shake out of fear!

With them, so do I. The concrete pavement burns
 beneath my feet, I can already see the years ahead
 of me, running at a pace faster than mine.

Tall bright buildings, they all crumble, one by
 one, becoming nothing more than a shadow, rotten,
 as a junkie pays his guardian pregnant angel, as
 the angel feeds the soul, heavenly fix.

Misguided frequencies running through their minds,
 feverishly amounting inside, there is no room,
 there is no reason. Reality becomes another vivid
 video game, in which they destroy all existence, as
 existence itself patiently bleeds, praying to a
 poisonous religion for this game to be over, as we
 all do.

I watch them fall, by my side, in front of me,
 every possible angle from the three hundred and
 sixty existent has someone falling, with their fat
 bodies, piercing through the concrete, to a free
 fall escorted by rain, and a symphony of lightning,
 as every single atom is absorbed by a black hole to
 a forgotten alley.

I am afraid of the fall! As I think, my hands
 shake! My body relies naked at your bright blue
 eyes, as you approach me, as I realize your beauty.

Mad angel, heavenly figure from every religion
 known to man, Muslim, Christian, walk on our flesh,
 burned, petrified by divine intervention, smoked by
 them as any other cigarette consumed after sex.

The poison, the alcohol, the holy water of our
 Saint Lawrence of Rome Holy Grail, it is provided
 by those whom consider our thoughts as sins, 

whom condemn our existence until the very last
 conscious breath is taken, 

whom knock on our door, five and six times a day,
 to preach what they believe to be the salvation!

Black flannel suit gods, nostalgia, they fill my
 ears with shapes of melody.

I hear them every day, as they sing, out loud, the
 crushing monotony that is my routine,

I hear them every day, as they sing, out loud, my
 sadness while looking at a picture of the great New
 York City skyline,

I hear them every day, as they sing, out loud, out
 of despair, watching me consume myself while
 resting in a couch soaked with sorrow and shame,

I hear them every day, as they sing, out loud, of
 what it is to lose a father, and of what may come
 from never seeing him again,

I hear them every day, as they sing, out loud,
 there is gold and lust in their sound, while we all
 shake out of fear!

I fear despair! As I once sat down in my bed,
 watching a white candle melt, down the addiction!
 These are the walls of my skull! Meltdown!

The bursting fire, hot, steamy, meltdown, melting
 me down! Not before corrupting my organs, alcohol
 for the liver, smoke for the lungs.

Until you finally touch me! Holy sexual angel,
 beneath the sheets we love, blasphemy.

Your delightful figure, so carefully put together.
 Silk made shoulders, in which your golden curly
 hair falls, only to rest, brushing them gently,
 with a jazz soul fulfilling scent. Your smile is
 cocaine clear, as the most beautiful pearl, widen
 from wine red spilled hands.

And your eyes. Your comprehensive thundering
 stylish eyes, they don't judge my thoughts, nor by
 whom or what they might be driven.

They simply carefully observe me, with such a
 carefree joy.

They wear makeup, despite their true beauty,
 ravishing black eye liner, light purple toned eye

They smile! Your eyes smile! A small wrinkle,
 timeless, defining each and every understanding of
 age. Creation at its most fervent state, how can
 such a foolish act be made! How can you appear to
 me, angelical much needed hallucination.

Behold mother! Behold father! This is the women of
 my life! This is truly divine intervention!

At such apprehension, my being gets lifted. I now
 sing my vows! And I love you, and I will hate you,
 and I desire you, and I will despise you, and I
 devour, and I will devour, you in bed,
 passionately, late passion ally, as you tipple my
 sweat, and I pierce your womb.

And them, the last ones standing, they keep
 running, dodging the slits, stepping on burned
 sacred ground.

And them, the last ones standing, hijackers of
 limousines, fade away into a premature fog of LSD
 and martini, never to be seen again by the visual
 spectrum laws. 

And them, the last ones standing, in a local bar at
 5 A.M., drinking from the same obnoxious fog in
 which they fade away, deliberately doing so to
 obliterate their bodies. 

And them, the last ones standing, daze, as they
 live with chivalry, four half naked scabrous drunk
 men walk on a desert in Nevada, United States of

And them, the last ones standing, whom drove those
 limousines across the unknown known universe, only
 to crash upon a stained mattress, madness, alley.

And them, the last ones standing, their carnal
 vessel putrefies quickly, only to be swallowed in
 boiling water, their fingertips stubbornly plead
 their case to stay at the surface.

As I finally watch the very last brilliant mind
 drown in ashes, as his nakedness disappears, with
 one last Rock n' Roll guitar solo, they rock, they
 roll, I can´t move,

I can´t walk on water,

I can´t spread any sea,

The river I now glimmer belongs to my tears,
 rebelliously disobeying to their natural course,
 upwards, straight to my insides, with one last

No comments:

Post a Comment