Allowed

Here I sit, in a half lit hotel room
there is no champagne, just a basic bed
scraps of paper and a red stain where I should lie
and thought to the wind, allowed far away tonight

Similar to my mother

There are two noses, one long, one short and chubby
mine is the one I do not like, provided that it allows me enough smell
to tell that the turning of my stomach is justifiable, only at certain times
then there are other features that are common, arched brows
of too much usage, puzzled.
There's a small set of lips, a set of ears
and something in between. I haven't aged yet
but people say my face looks all too much like my mother's
except smaller, fairer and a bit worn by time.

Thistles for your fingers

Touch the thistle, it will prick your hand
there's sweetness in the way
blood drips over white fingers and green leaves

In the shades of an old almond tree

The almond tree has been butchered
there are stems where your feet played,
there is a plastic box and red tape where you found a scorpion
and crucified him for the poison, threat to your grown body
they have cut down your tree house, your first laugh with the boy
who was just 'blond' enough for you. You are at bay now but you cannot help
but ask for the leaves of the green blossoms, announcing the season of
hide and seek, of monsters and men in long legless outfits
these were your fears, they have butchered your almond tree
here is a piece of what  you have done, you still have the stem
like the memories, full of circles, each for a different year
they used to tell you, that's why things are layered
the trees, the brain, the compilation of woe
in the shade that is no longer given by almonds.

Earworm

At first there's sirens, like the cry of banshees
loud, banging, but you are used to the intense noise
it doesn't matter, the hooting of the owls,
the cries in the gardens- there's enough to help you sleep
there's more than enough to keep you awake
You know- this is how most songs work,
enough of words a little of melody and some nice vocals
You know this song is no different, babe
Someone else's sound has fallen into you
inside your ears, ringing, wringing
and repeating, one- two- three
the same tune, out of focus and out of your hands
into your ear, your head, your being.

Meeting familiar faces

It is late night and you cannot see, probably the drinks
probably it is me, you say to yourself. Winter hasn't yet fallen
like a blanket covering earth with its mighty forces. There will be water
some other time, there will be warmth but now as the cool breeze
winds up your shoulders, you pause, smile and greet the faces
half familiar, half covered in a gaze you cannot recognize
its source, the sky, the silence or plainly your eyes with their complications.

A question for when I was two

When I was two, the priest asked me If I believed in God
and if I intended to keep on the faith. I nodded, understanding
that at two so much can stay the same and more can change
between toy and plastic letters and news I could hear but could never
reciprocate the demands God requested of me, be full
listen to what others say, to what he says, At two all I could think of
is the present, this minute I want to eat, to play, to run
who cares for other things that are demanded of me-
as long as one doesn't break, doesn't cry for every little detail
that passes underneath the sun. There goes a good lad, he who listens
he who knows when to speak.When I was two the priest asked me If I
believed in God, and he forgot to ask me if I will be able to believe
in all the beauty beneath His hand, among many other things.