outlaw

today i feel like 37 cuts in the wrists
like a dirty magazine cover
like a burning outlaw running for his horse
a happy cow in the slaughter house

today there’s people fighting with the police in the street
and the land is begging for money
and the cold blue of this mad city’s sky is so sharp it hurts my eyes

today i feel like a drive-by shooter
a rotten diamond
like a stupid dirty pigeon

today it’s enough,
and there’s a deaf afghan with an ak47,
and the fat, dead eyed, stalinist king
is looking at his own face in the mirror
with a proud grim in his mouth

today i feel like a beaten up greyhound with silver hair,
like a fallen angel too sad to complain,
like a black ink drop from your pen about to fall,
just inches away from the paper,
inches away from that woman you are about to draw

today it’s cold,
and blurry,
and i have lost too many trains,
or too many trains have missed me,
who cares?
what’s the difference?
it is a ghost town anyway

today amy,
my dear,
my far away friend

i wish i could be with some ladies
riding in a white pontiac convertible,
my hand on the wheel,
my hand on my eyes,
her left hand in my neck,
listening to the rolling stones,
on the road,
you know what it means,
the road,
whatever road,
our kind of road

today i feel like a rotten stop sign
a melancholic hyena
a singing scarecrow
a sweet goodbye
solomon under the temple’s wall

the road amy, i told you about it already...

today amy
i have run out of life belts
life boats
life jackets
life vests
life rings
life floats
rain wear
tape

today
i hit the white walls in my room with my fist
and prepare myself for the operating theatre
lights, camera, action

today,
writing this poem is the only thing that keeps me from dying
and, at the same time, is killing me,
weird
um?

today, amy
i have the stupid idea
that i know better than ever
that you are,
quietly,
sincerely,
listening to me
while i re-read these lines,
loud,
like a mother fucker