Ola k ase?

nutteloze poëzie

Sit for hours
sit for hours
sit for hours
sit for ours
shit four ours
shit four hours
shit for ours
sit four fours
shit four fours
and it hurts

from now till FWD

In this Syberian
state of mind,
i apologize
for all that
I always mistake
I always missed.
cause I'm aware:
just a rat playing with symbols
trough a cascade of Tanqueray
on the top of camel's shit,
Becauce I'm aware we are not the same
and not so different
and there's not even a particle
of racism in me.
I know no race as my race for knowledge.
cause we are both rats in camel's piss cascades

some fall 2011 poems

Rain another Rain             
from my nose
from pain
in this reminded 
sea there's no 
so much water 
for two

sweat hot and horniness
may be bad, but isn't

Let me know less than
yesterday
let me go, don't tell me about your life
It's hard to hear this
when it comes from yourself
in this mirror of your crap

SKIP THIS PARAGRAPH 
IS WROTE JUST FOR
FEED MY EGO

There's no time to talk
about poetry
so just take your things
and go away
so far away
where the grass grows
trough the walls 
and your ayes still on your face.
Anyway you make me feel sick.

NICE PAGE 
BUT NOW 
WHAT?

I complain about fill this
page with post traumatic shit 

I'm sure, 
I know
everything 
about
holes in
the street 
big and
black
(noir)
holes,
filled 
of shit,
garbage
and 
animal's fur.

Gregory

I'm quite close of became that famous bug.
Gregory.
I'm slimming trough the floor 'til the stepladder.
Trying to climb
trying to be
after throwing up that mix
/of salt
/spices
i realize I'm a slug
dying melted in orina
dying melted in my tedious pass of time
missing my backpack-home as i was a snail

Andimfackingburnedaboutbeingrejectedornotevenengagedindeepshitjobswhilewaitingtousemybraintogetmylife©UbayMartin.2012

midnight summer dream

about birds
and riots
and the absence of summer
but that warm/boiling feeling that comes in from the window after midnight,
stills calling me to kill;
calls me out, (that other side)
and, by the way,
what about you?
what about me?
I still thinking on birds and acrostics and riots and acrobatics,
and i lost another job, so I still wandering/dreaming to do something with my life

and, by the way,
what about you?
what about me?
I still swaeting/dropping/complaining of this curious condition of mind.

Gas starts from deep inside, with a weak roummmm.
Then he moves your forgotten pieces of flesh,
rotten memories,
insane membranes,
'till he explores the exit,
and then shares its best with the entourage.
Gas is my ally.
God save the gas for us.

reload

So I understood
my tongue was mine
and serum was my privilege
of this slow agony
the gardens were closed to my step
and sunset, used to waste my body for money.