No Thought

Purple noon cups the waves

of thick storm watermounds.


Fleshy robes entangle

an ocean of  pelvic bones

tired of breeding.


Air bubble inside the brain

threatens to brake the headnest,

leaving a salty hair taste

that cannot be lifted by the tongue.


A boy cuts his face away, becomes man,


Beercanmouth spits

the morning news.

Dog translates with

human voice: “the flesh holds no thought”


Fishing pole rests

between blond toes off the coast of Panama.


The day like the boat

has run out of fuel.



© Javi Felix ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  Todos los derechos reservados © Javier Felipe 2014