50 ways to wreck, get in line
Need to grow, have to push
Flicking through vinyl and feeding the rush
Kovacs

let's decenter love
crush it and mix it with pepper
let's put it in boxes and send them
to an uknown destination
let's caress our defeated hands
til they willingly remember
skin's magnetic charge, the magma of darkness

let's asphixiate the air till no longer tolerates words
excavate the emptiness, two fossils washed by rain our hearts
unbearable the silence hidden in the middle of teeth

let's not do impossible things like two acrobats of the invisible
certainties implode like stars' collapse into the ***** of space
your confetti smile, this brutal beauty of longing
let's stop counting days, stay resonant instead
we are a fleeting sorcery in a dyzzing endless pace

A poem
is when you have the sky in your mouth.
It is hot like fresh bread,
when you eat it,
a little is always left over.

A poem
is when you hear
the heartbeat of a stone,
when words beat their wings.
It is a song sung in a cage.

A poem
is words turned upside down
and suddenly!
the world is new.

by  Jean-Pierre Simeón from This is a Poem that Heals Fish, courtesy of Maria Popova

The scattered words disturb the silence.
I prefer written pages with my left hand,
But it is trembling too much to write slowly
I miss him, his calm hands giving juicy oranges.

Shattered glass falls in slow motion,
Screams in the apartment,
Just the neighbor next door.
Another struggle,
Another soundless fracture
From the outside,
It’s not visible
What really hurts.

I have my refuge.
My piano and fingertips
Strike the rhythm,
Racing to speak in time.

What I want to repeat to myself
It isn’t lush or gentle,
Only barren,
like thoughts hung on a dry twig.
I trace figure eights,
Locked in a simple shape.
I stare and cannot fathom
The logic of a cold two plus two.
A thought-form circles
Around the blue planet.

Something pointing,
With its mercury finger.
It speaks in an unknown dialect
It shows the place to live
And huge fluorescent deserts.

The clouds’ minds —
A piece of earth
Soaked in different
Kinds of screams.

This is my blind chance.
I was born here.
In my mother’s paradise garden
Spinning in dawn’s glow.
Sometimes I just write
To ease personal and common guilt.

I hear tattooed numbers,
Granting citizenship of the lower caste.
And here,
The fresh scent of good life in the morning.
Blackbirds and thrushes fell silent.
My mother knows how to speak to them,
I know how to speak with trees.

Everything pulses,
On this small piece of earth,
Giving shelter to creatures
And stones no one throws.
I am here in a place I can happily bear,
Without cold speculation.

I can still dive into metaphors,
This is my greatest luxury,
The gift after so many disturbing lives.

It would be better to create a world
With only diverse breathing gardens.
I don’t need too much for living,
A naked soul is enough for me.

So, I am sitting in this landscape
And I peacefully hope
That my daughter will remember me tenderly
As I remember him, my father
And all who passed away.

The simplest thing is
The presence of every human being
It's like a celluloid film strip
Left behind the broken ribs
In the left ventricle of the heart
That never lies, never cheats me.

our bodies a carnival of mismatched why
the curves of a whisper, the strength of a sigh
they merge in a dance,  trompe l'oeil meets the sky
no labels fit no definitions hold
we are free to invent the rules of the fold
with every step our shadows multiply
we chase the echoes of a surrendered reply
in the androgynous abyss there is delight
a space for contrast to become light

sunset's scream of gold, light exults
you betray yourself in depressive insults
the city's hollow tone echoing through flesh,
where life's dreams are made to mesh

unstable rhythms like a windless storm
no paradox, just pain, wounds in display
I fell for the burden, the taste of failure's bite,
the tremble of your fright
no need for final meanings or touches that pretend
love without desire, desire without love's bitter end

I told you: night gets shattered
when  darkness fades away

night’s name steers me
to the silent reverie of your hands
for a fleeting moment
no dawn chases us, no time defines us
no shadow dulls our glow
without notice the horizon itself is drifting
my hands' yearning is as calm
as a wing over moonlit seas

I teach your name to the breath of words,
to the folds of dusk, to the quiet cups of morning
then I turn inward to who we are beneath the surface of silence.
no thread of certainty but rhythmic pulses I feel  
the horizon’s glow is fading
I craft love from the certainty of unspoken fears 
I etch poetry into the air to sooth my eyes from absence