VICTOR TANGO

Suddenly the blind dog barked

She stopped me from my path

She told me of a smell

She sensed something desirable

Something we could sell

She showed me faint footprints

And ordered a new direction

A direction which seem so recognisable

A direction too determined

A direction so convinced

Being cautious of the heavy myst before me

I kept a close look on each foot print

Laying a stone for each print I followed

Soon it took shorter strides

While I aligned stones like a puzzle

My back bent and palms bleeding

I stopped to rest my back and dry my hands

Then a bitch unveiled from the myst

- C

November 30, 2011, 9:09am

Packing papers, and books I excessively borrowed

were obsessions to greed

on cheap publications in bulky totes

to suffocate my fingers

… Leaving the house still seem strange

- my skin raw and snapped chilled

each time I locked the door…

Staring and listening to depleted faces

hearing familiar voices

were alien sounds to others

- my eyes glared in images scrolling

… With a mind overloading minute tasks

listing garlic breads, sardines, eggs and sausages

carrots, onions, bananas and discount cola…

Returning fading labeled tapes forgotten

were memories of echoed viewing

on unhealthy stacks of foreign drama

to refill my guts

… greeted with roaches I pack my palm full

with identical bills ordering

alarms to chime in my waking hours…

Molding couches greased in sweat I sat

mesmerizing beams cutting through blinds

masking my eyes that gazed animated windows

to refresh my eyes

… I left his surfaces to gather dust, reviewing ideas on

fascinating pages of age I lessoned and reasoned

with the bookmarks I left yesterday…

- C

November 27, 2011, 3:01am

Each wakes the same with aches,

aches chosen over bland normality.

Normalities to repeat, analyze, disguising blinded.

You smile on request full faces greasing,

words licking wounds of specialized ignorance.

You chase tails as tails chased you running, stunning.

These beats never ends but fading.

New sounds arrives to blend and wash under.

Voice no guts, but only sweets, nuts and sugar.

Feeding diluted pleasure, all too measured.

Something expecting, expected more.

All days halves, and twice again over.

- C

November 16, 2011, 4:30am

I ran around factories

my eyes on knees and paper cutting machines

head full of sweat

steamed by the helmet strapped by my chin

I ran foreign countries

my fragile body drifted endless buildings

adopted by strangers

strangely departing with familiar faces

I ran beside her bed

a bed in which she remained and cried in

the bed she died in

the bed I cried from when she choked to death

I ran hollow rooms

my beaded skin crawled on sun spilled carpet

melting my cheeks

I studied the memories of my mother sick

I ran to the window

with shit smudged paws stroking madness

the window shivered

while my palm felt his collar tightening

I ran with books heavy

crowned by dense woven rules self written

stubborn and idealistic

I imagined optimism beyond each repeating days

I ran out of money

the truth is it isn’t my money, it’s his

who am I fooling

it came from lies I help construct so believable.

I ran on empty stomach

weighted by his escapism and useless pride

I ignored his insides rotting

as he force fed continuous entertainment

I ran away with her

with a collection of precious junk thrown and sold

we left cheaply

with our remains piled against walls to ceilings

I ran my days working

on hour long bus rides and seamless routines

I talked shit

confusing the ignorant fools who sat beside me

I ran out the door again

this time wearing something new, taking all I knew

still talking shit

only this time with vague intentions to change

I ran along other voices

where they took me places I never knew

Everything seemed new

While the wind blew exciting cluttered wishes

Time ran unaware

and I stood noticing my feet still moving

speaking to myself

while I was busy doing nothing.

- C

November 16, 2011, 4:20am