Only in dreams,
Is this place, it seems,
To be a horizon?
Sky to ponder on
Where water meets,
No city streets,
A force of nature,
Is this Earth's future,
Drowned world, it seems,
Or only it dreams ........

Wore a dress
Covering less
Of her body
Desired to make a happy
To her lover only
The night was cold
She prepared a hearth
The weather was misty
She prepared lamps
The winds sounds
Deaf ears
She broadcasted song
The time went
Faster than the train
The desire and dreams
**** every wish
The nights' hours rush
As the flies push
Themselves towards
Light
The sun rose
He sent a message
"The weather is cold
I can't attend"
The lamps were off
The heart was off
The changed only
Wore
Her dress

i am trying to go through
this with you and take it step by step,
but we seem to be going in
opposite directions.

you towards the fault line
and me towards the light,
but to our surprise, you
end up getting through
this without me in the end.

Sometimes
      the moon
          doesn't
               look to
                  be a far
                      cry from
                           a smile!
Sometimes
   the untouched
       Moon isn't the
            the only one
                        dwarfs
                        everyone.
                         There­ are
                            many more
                              untouchable
                  ­                     ones are
                                         closer by.

Art is opinion masquerading as truth.

When I draw a city, I am drawing the city of my dreams, just as the city that is does not exist.

Putting policy into words in the hopes of having yourself heard is not the point of the philosopher,

and should not be the end of the penman.

When I attempt to make the world see, I manufacture my enemy. We should seek instead to illuminate gracefully, to speak the words beyond the void of flesh, and to touch emotions that swim with depth

It will get us nowhere to make art political, of which it is propaganda and employed many an artist in the past;

whose dreams of good deeds became hung in a museum for all the wrong reasons, leaving a remnant of an unforseen circumstance hanging dry on an empty tour-guide phonecall

Descriptive yet lies

Argue the dialectic of truth than the present purfume of lies that is fumigated from the salivary discharge of a cetaceous yearning of ******* of thought, that leftover dream of God

That all things should be the same, that all minds should think that way-- if they were, we'd be done with the experiment.

I wake up in sad
but only she loves me      
I'll wait
when she will ready

                
I will remember                          
I will watch
I will wait
My only love
My only love
My only love
My only love

I like when you smile
I dont like when you sad
I like when you happy
I Dont like when you sad


My only love
My only love
My only love
My only love

My only love
My only love
My only love
My only love

2016

Upon my steel face, will it rain
upon my gleaming eyes, it will be made
the envy of a soul,
trapped in perfect face
to no great final resting place

My legs, drilled into the ground
my eyes, upturned to sky unwound
released of tears and raining down
to broken glass
and grass
their souls unbound

To stare deep into a darkened me,
my admirers creep along my metal sheen
as my material decompose,
to save my thoughts from endless woe

"So long!", will I be endless seen
abrupt, *****, incongruously
commanding these vistal centuries
of concrete and perjury

poking up grey thumbs among the hills
while the putrid stench under burrows
My fingers, ever curled, do maestrate
The doleful victims of that loving fate

And when you walk upon my land,
and see my metal hanging hands
Know my voice, hear my dreams
to never make the enemy of me.