jeudi 10 juin 2010

The rule of rhodophilia


The rule was a male knight to fight the amazon fair

the condition of this bizarre lack of love

and excess of Venus and desire

to have mounted their body

on each other's horse of duty

slowly horseman and woman, wich is called queen Pentesilea

countess Erzébeth Bathory

came to approach of making each other bleed

slowly and then madly faster animals came to approach

no eyes were visible by the needs of war

slight movements of the trial of goddess

made this straight male retain his sword

and caress

his horse under the rage of another thinking rideress

the cutting edge then

divised him in death halfs

putting his head to roll

and to speak prophecy as a male female

as Orpheus, and Sybill, and the wisdom of despair

pleasure was given by horse to amazon queen

to lick helmets and to spasm in lose

to get older in a night of battle

so the horse was sacrified

to stop beauty's persistent destruction

as a logical issue to the dead

in his crying red tears

of a perfect body to the seems

of submission

is opinion but is also a look

said the she-killer in her bath

of victory and youth

and no command had have been given beforewards

her memory started in the birth of fight

this night of the attac

this sharp wisdom in wich the animal

was put to death under her sex

the art of war was the only beginning

of life or stopping the unamed age of Medusa

by fascination of male knight

in slight moods of goddess

Virgin Moon Latona influenced him

and History would speak of days

about night of no one but changed

riders of music and muscle

of wheapons stronger than the eye of storm

animals and metal strings and projectile

longer than me is my head's prophecy

they listened in the battle field

rhodophilia lead her to perversion of sound

and to love

to feed the flower with color

to realise the make up of face

in nature landscapes of kissing lips

roses accused of curse in the cheeks of time

garden of faces looking for a goddess

rhodophilia of dying knights and amazons

of Venus betraying Adonis and begging pardon

a star depicting a mortal on white sheets of moarning

and so was me introducted to rhodophilia

me voyeur that remembered different times

that was submitted to books

of my hands bare and nacked

and my heart's rose like wars lasting too long


Another knight possesed by jealousy

of perfection in service of the lady

another fighter against dream

having the horned helmet of dream

was a Neronian poet burning palaces

believing he was awake and creating

winning a race of the games of reality

and so he danced for the walls in fire

and for the killed by music

the victims of the poet's gun he danced for

shaking his wrists

sat on his pliable tin and tissue chair

tea colouring the teath of his strokes and letters

wilderness of cigarettes on the kitchen

just at midnight, and the half

for the falling in the poem

is this hate ?

is this hate that I'm feeling ?

I do not want to know

I have not got to know

so female continue to rule my penis

so I am a dog at the bar

hearing all and not moving

seeming to dream

and dreaming to seem


Thé de Ceylan, Scotland

the nibelung's cup was filled

in the secret of a princess sleeping aside

sculpting a stinking dragon to be killed by almost

immortal Sigfried, a work of lapislazuli

and of smoke and almost silent

repetition of nerves of a crazy horse's sleep

one day women of Scotland, and maybe Ceylan

will announce in the late years and in youth

the crown and its death

this is also the treasure

of films of paper made of light

the capricious jewell of the gnome

of bearded youth making love to you

kissing the nabel of a pearl

to taste what comes around in gold

and poetry, cheap tales to children

that make heart beat faster

that make dance the proffesor

foolishly fucking the air

that make the old lady get in search

of a forgotten poem

the treasure of the gnome

that reflects you my girl

sleeping while I smoke and drink tea


blackbirds wellcome sunrise and cars

murmuration in my insane illumination

this is light what tells me hard despise

and the singing voice of young lovers coming home

and monks for the first time becoming rare

I won't refuse sex next time

light would not be there

darkness in your legs will attract me

my gone last word will speak clear this night

or even now if we should dare

the crown of Christ was painful

so is the music never stopping in the sky

so is the blue

painful turquoise in the lace of your tears

I imagine you feel sometimes sad

and you are bored of art and slavery

this things that cling and sound

the suffering of hours to wash machines and subtlety I misunderstand

there is no limit between the soul and the body

between the image and it's story

wild abuse of kindness by tigers

golden monsters eating the roses you care

the words set by murder at the wheel of beauty

buddhaness will never come to save you

you are a soul in the morning

knowing too much to be free

so I am in search of taking your feet in my sweat gloves

to repeat the gesture of our masterpiece

what does it change of your soul ?

buddhaness will be next time you awake

it is a damnation to the christian girl

but adults are allowed to follow this whisper

as water washing our bodies again

for the time of our lives


2 commentaires:

me a dit…

Manuel eres inagotable. Para mi es demasiada lectura. Quizas si dividieras el poema en varias fases?

Volvere en otro momento...

Anonyme a dit…

Почему желание и нет? [url=]ремонт многоквартирного дома[/url]