Sample Of A Note In The Wedding Gift Bags

halfway

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Basra wiped my feet never looked

Photo: Eric Ostermann

'll be master of death in this empty city , will be the master
no injuries waking dreams where ,
king of these barren wastelands, a spectrum of this sewer
gemida .
'll be pounding the trail of blood on every corner, a heart
shrapnel initialed every ruin, you'll
horror will be grave, you will not smell the breeze, you'll
night without setae, without spices, without poetry ,
Cain will be the night in a thousand nights.


Wind

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Photo: S. Kandin

not know, never looked,
've ever read his verses written ,
crying songs faded kisses
exploring the air of a lost yesterday.

not warn you that not a single reproach ,
knows it was not, never has been , but not surprised
nights
words in the morning when he spoke his delirium.

When wondering, wandering sounds ,
when responding folded ears.
Now you wake up your lips empty their voices
sealed
his mouth in exile?

Now you know:
know who has not been

Wind




Chechu ... definitely, it ...



Chavela without pictures ... but the important thing, your soul, your voice ... .

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Eight O'Clock

Café con leche and toast to start the morning.
Dreams of those still sleeping.
Silence.

The clock on the wall there, not at the hours,
ticking is dumb a compass drowned
off a heart like mine.

The newspaper does not surprise me, yet my eyes
soak up every word known, expected ,
read again and again ,
and again convicted.

disgusted me bricks,
conquered land, the conspiracies
oblique,
bishops, church services,
stories,
nukes,
nuclei without pumps ,
repeated trials,
interested war,
righties, claims,
off-center.
And I keep reading and I am looking .

Maybe there are no longer looks
who can write tenderness,
caressing souls ,
to kiss and cuddled our attention
orphaned and injured ...?

hands Is there not complacent, generous ,
they serve and extend
soothing skin from the sun devoured
canoe while drifting .. . ?.

man Do not tell me their troubles well known;
tell me about hope, dreams found,
of love and smiles .

Tell me, burn it on my skin, and tell me that there is
tell me there is a place where life has conquered death
and steel.

For once,
in one place,
even once.



Wind.

(September 2006)

Extreme Pain After Sedative Filling

Photo: Christophe Cagnard

For a mother ...


We pressed a cry,
a sea of \u200b\u200bblood, a wound in his pain

accepted without escape. We


projected his ego in a moonlit night,
silver flower watering,
generous smile. We

burning fever, sleeplessness

not sleep if there is no sleep in our bed.

We are the light that illuminates
his side,
the darkness and fog
if we start
Reaper on his side.

A desert without kissing,
drought in the oasis
if
flew into his arms.

We all
are therefore
your universe is nothing

if we deny our sun. We are your desire


on a snowy winter.

Wind

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Some days we love everything

Photo: Le Fredus Nice

Some days I love it.
I greet the dawn surrendered,
That I love everything.
Although the clock
break my silence
Or the cat meow on the terrace
Contiguous
And the ungrateful violet
topless
Deny My ongoing anxieties
(verses water).

There are days when nothing prevents
my flight above the roof my view
Limits.

No rain ...

Some days I love so much
I open my pores My hands

my eyes.
and breathes tenderness and caressing tenderness

and discover tenderness.

Wind