on misbehaving

I misbehave
because I'm here to heave
to push and shove
to tirar melecas do nariz
I misbehave
because in the end
all I am is d -
and if I can't get a laugh
and if I can't rock me off
rock me off
rock me off
what else is there
at the close?
I misbehave
for making sense
no sense to make?
my own expense

beat

I spend my hard days and nights
sitting on a stiff wooden stool that
wobbles every time I turn to see
if it's you this time through the door
my stomach is already screaming
because of all that coffee
mesmo assim eu disse mais um expresso
and my ass is already at home
on that stiff wooden stool that wobbles
and no it's not you
but I'm already out in the smoke and the honks and the concrete and the lights
and I think I hate New York
as I light a cigarette and
wham somebody's died
my heart starts beating off beat and
I remember the back of your neck
I go back inside and sit on that stool
because maybe it's you this time through the door

a jar

What makes up a jar?
some glass
some kind of lid
and empty space to be filled
accordingly
coins, corkscrews, compotes, paints or brushes
the right amount
of any little thing will do
today I picked one out
(a jar)
and filled it with just the right amount
of nothing at all
and this is why:
I wanted to make nothing
into a thing
and keep some for myself

a poem meant for a sibling

I want to be close to you
very simply
like a piano solo
played by one hand
I just want to sit
and talk
because I believe in words
we were little together once -
no hard
feelings you said
in the middle of that
hug that this morning -
no hard feelings
you said
and I said
a few