things of the night

Touching rhythms and rhymes, locating shreds of memory on my
skin, preventing all desired and undesired encounters, activating all the
senses of a wrecked nervous system

 

The noisy crowd stands between me and me and me and you and
between us and every touch.

 

By the end of the night noises will slowly start to fade
away, fumes will replace them.

You will take a very clear shape, maybe not a very clear
one, but it will be quit. Dead quit. Grave quit- and there will be no images or
shadows or useless odder.  

 

There will be you

I won’t be me

We won’t be together

You will be in someone else’s bed.

Take her
night to bed

put it to
sleep

kiss your
lover good night,

tomorrow you
won’t know what she’s wearing

 

 

consciousness
is a nightmare

so is
tonight

so is everyday

so is
every dream.

keep
dreams on the shelf, keep them on the stove

keep your
dreams right on your forehead, for you never know when they die.

 

 

keep them
on your forehead, your nightmares are closer to your eyes

and your eyes are not any closer to reality

reality will never be complete

 

i don’t wear a watch

everyone else knows the time

cycles are inmeasurable

 

 

a sand castle will still look magnificent

even when it’s falling

even even after it falls

 

 

your very own realm built of a woman’s wrist

a needle and the television on all night

scratches, dirty walls,

stupid drowings and silly friends

ordinary sidewalks and dirty streets

detailed news

usless newspapers

and lost causes

worn out cd’s and disfunctional perception

and an over load of now and dishes to do

 

no promises of memories

no consumption

no photographes to be passed on

 

consider, reconsider, forget

consider leaving

 

land stretches ahead when i start walking

 

step into your forehead

and open a window on the square

where a photographer is offering pictures for the
tourists

 

too much alcohol and a bit of wind

always invites me to leave

i always do

but the space never leaves me

geography is a stain that will last forever.

will she ever ask me to?

 

never mind, never mind, your brain will die soon

so will everything else

have another illusion, it’s on the house.

 

 

pour me the last minute i’ve got into a cup

and watch me a s i drink

 

i wish i had more wishes

life itches, i wish i had longer nails.

 

 

it feels
like a novel

i know it
comes from a dream

but it
feels like one too

it drowns
in normality

yet it
carries all the beauty in mornings to come

and the
seduction of evey drop of alcohol greeting the last ray of darkness

 

 

where do
i take your body after the music is done?

you
unconcsoiusly move

i become
exposed

you are
asleep

i am
awake

we are
dreaming

when will
it crystalize?

 

 

I wake up

And find only shadows

Feet walking towards indistinct directions

Smiles that carry no happiness

Hands that carry no breakfast

 

I find some peace

But not enough to go around

 

I find wondering people

Only wondering people

I find no direction

Staircases that keep going up and around

And people who love to create traffic on them

Now, I’m the one wondering.

 

I find trash bins empty in the mourning

Full at night

And then, somehow,

Empty again in the next mourning.

Someone with no name

Had to worry about bread on the table

The trash bins will always be empty in the mourning

For someone is always worried about not enough bread on the
table

 

I find lots of cigarettes in the mourning

And lots of ashes at night

But no names

Always, no names.

The wind will carry grains of dust

And build statues for my dreams

But they will be broken by the flash lights

Of American tourists.

The f16s eat the sky

In Diar Bakr

And my melancholy for jazz is making me feel guilty

I never though chewing the sky can be so noisy

Smoke will come one day

And overcome everything

By then I won’t be a man anymore

For most of you, I might not have even been.

 

But I will be sitting by the side of the road,

By the side of the road,

By the side of the road I will be telling stories.

 

I will be reciting lives of those who once were dreaming of
enough uncertainty to overcome reality.

To prove words still drank alcohol inspite of books, and
bodies still poured pleasure inspite of fashion.

 

There will be no negotiations;

I will either consist of color or I shall vanish

 

By will, by choice, by shade.