End O'Worlds

If ever once
world ended up in water
talk to Noah
'cause I can suffer
if indeed you want me to
in this world of trumpets
and seals that can be broken
End O'Worlds
at the end of the world
I'll say to you:
'Run for your life, child
'cause God is angry
and coming for your ass'
so rape me whenever you get a chance
if you find me deserving
Oh, Lord
fist me, if this indeed be
the end of the world and thy will
'cause I swear in thy name
I shall never follow thee...

Don't you worry Elijah
I will send you off back right
I will always love you
as the child that is mine.

If and only then
I pray
incese smoke will go to my head
for I pray to meself
in this world of preachers that preach to the wind
and screamers that scream like dogs:
'Have you accepted Jesus as your only fucking savior?'
No, he fucked me up
and I didn't even spread them for shared pleasure
as I saw stars and my ass in splinters
cause Jesus fucked me hard
on all fours against my face
at the End O'Worlds
where I knew I'd go
'cause I'm a lesser God
rebellious son nonetheless
daring never ever
to even lower my face
before the Lord.

Don't you worry Elijah
I will send you off back right
I will always love you
as the child that is mine.

If it be Him
let the Word take my head
as I rise it
and spit on the Name's face.
So if you die
take the sins you love with you
close this door
with a keyblade
and leave Elijah inside
buried in the dark closet
a child crying forever.

SO OPEN UP ME EYES... [x3]

I know you can't destroy me
No end ill come down on me, ah, ah, ah...
I know you can't destroy me
no end will come down on me, ah, ah, ah...

-0-

A Child's Wasteland
To T.S.Elliot

Summer is the cruelest season
as I see my religion
falling down to my ankles
along with my Scoobie Doo skyvies.
The Lord is not present at the moment
as another Lord prepares
for the invasion of my anus
and pushes forward unceremoniusly
HURRY UP, ELIJAH
TIS GETTING LATE, MY CHILD!
My leftovers try to recover
even years after all that blood
all those cummings
a child's wasteland
untouched by Exra Pound's much editing.
HURRY UP, SWEET ELIJAH
TIS GETTING LATE, SWEET ONE!
If I cannot be Elliot
the least I can do is keep trying
like many rapings
to reach the garden
at the other side of this wasteland.
'Rain, rain
go away
sweet Elijah
wants to play.'
HURRY UP, ELIJAH
TIS GETTING LATE MY CHILD!

-0-

Snow

Totem pole fits thy heaen
as sky goes rotten blue
over cold desert
with fine company
to fish inside perfect circles
where penguins go to dive
whether or not you want to call it the North Pole
I was there
rounding up some clouds
springs of liquid mana for the earth
reflecting on Eskimos
and how they got 400 words for snow
when I only got me 2:
your eyes.

biografia:

David Caleb was born in Puerto Rico in 1980. He grew up, however, in Hartford, Connecticut. Youngest son of a Puerto Rican woman, and a half-breed English man, Caleb now cultivates poetry in both English and Spanish, like two different voices within him, urging the thoughts of Father and Mother through the fingers to optic fibers in a place called computer. He lives in Puerto Rico with his partner in life, Jerry, and Miroku, talltaleteller dog.