New anthology

The closest I’ve been to success

Was seeing the sunset reflecting in my book

Not a great one but filled with mithology

Not a chance of being successful in here

This land is not even desertic but grass

could not be yellower - green never lasts

But last afternoon was something else

Far from all the others - too many for me

When sunset dyed the pages orange

I looked up for a sec - mithology was there

All alive, walking, dancing in my garden

This land is my land - a dinosaur roared

Stomping the Earth not again - I know

It was their time not mine and smoke

could be smelled in the air - fire on the mountain

Maybe cavemen next door but not Ringo

Then spirits arose from the ground and

performed their strange rituals and if I

was there looking they could not care less

Somehow all these magic numbers

gave me a sight I ran to my book to

scratch some untongued words in the corners

Five fall futuressly fighting for

foul faking fire from foot feeding

Félix Francisco Casanova

"Canarian Rimbaud", my balls

A giant wooden totem resembling an owl

Took place where the cabin was - or wasn’t?

Time played foul and I didn’t move

From hammock delighted to see the show

Then some Navajo redskins danced around

the owl totem and all around was wilderness

and I was naked with too many skin that could

serve to make leather for all their tribes

dwelling over the hills - big pillars of smoke you

could see maintaining the invisible

temple from above the clouds

And if there is a temple there is a Goddess

and that one I know who she is as I climb

onto her temple and I kneel before her to

kiss whatever needs to be kissed and

sometime after I choose some poetry to

read on her lap to recitate to whisper with

all my body and is a good thing no one can

comprehend even if there are so many

vulturing around her so many eyes on

so many Tarkovski’s 1979 masterpiece - ah

You can’t read poetry anymore it no longer

exists on this World - try others if you dare

Only good poetry will come from my lips

and onto her lips - all of them yes yes yes

Though here I will no longer live in time

Considering I was always living late

So if you want poetry I’ll throw a rhyme

I’ve always live full of hate