Piache is a childish voice of tweet, of chirping.
For talking or being late
To the political talk in the Polisón Room
From the Teatro Principal, in Burgos
You have not heard
That a certain Sancho el Bravo
Fucking his daughter
Running for general election
Leaving his wife Doña Beatriz
Naked and shitting swastikas
Virtuous and pious
Because, according to him, she said while shitting:
-You have to build and help a lot
To the churches
That Spain, by the grace of God
It has not ceased to be frankly fascist.
In the Polison room
We were like chicks in the egg.
Another who belonged to that talking party
Gobbled up our brains
And screamed in his throat:
That we politicians are badly inclined
Vicious, thieves, fakers, mother fakers
And similar things.
It is a great truth.
But that's what there is
And so it wasn't
If you had not given to Politics
And to Garlic and water:
Fuck off and suck it up.
Here, in the Polison Room
The respectable public
Is chirped like a little bird after being caught
In the nest
Dreaming that some position or position
Would be distributed
Since the bait brought by the lecturer
Making them open their beaks
And applaud the promised promises
Which were always the same:
Liberty and Distributive Justice
With the stick, the club or the tumbler.
After the talk is over
The respectable public
Gobbled up and cheated by their greed
Did not notice that the lecturer
And his henchmen disappeared
As if by magic
Sheltered by their guardians
Staying like chickens and hens
Featherless and cackling.
From a blessed old lady
We hear her say:
-These guys in this game are saints.
From an old atheist
We hear commenting:
-After cuckolds, beaten
And everyone satisfied.
Long live slavery¡
"Devil's Ring" call the Clitoris
And some cloistered nuns
What do they see in the vertical smile
Of the feminine loving body
The virtue that claps and kisses
The evil inclinations of the male
Or the devil
That are better than bread
Or the Couplets of the Mystique
What does she tell us like her:
-Well, let's go to bed.
Let's make sacrifice
That a good night anyone spends it.
The grace of seeing and touching a Clitoris
It appeared to me
Put the head
Under the pillow
Looking from the navel to Sex
And in the mesh of stockings
A stuffed with mystical crosses
Of a female who says that she goes
For mayor or president
Of a Community or Nation.
Like me, back in the day
I gave myself to Religion and Philosophy
I stripped this half body
Putting away all the crosses
Pulling them hard
Against the floor
Bowing to Pussy
That it was vicious, a thief and a forger
Ringing and pressing your doorbell
That it sounded like a plate or crockery
In a kitchen sink.
With the googly eyes of a monkey
I put my head between her thighs
Licking lips and nymphs
Biting her clitoris
Jumping, later, with it in the mouth.
She who saw it, she didn't care
And, laughing, she blurted out this proverb
Leaning on a sideboard or table
"Laughing, and without Clitoris
I will win the elections.”
VERY GOOD HAIR FOR THESE BRAIDS
Sitting on the bus behind this girl with two beautiful braids,
which I couldn't help but photograph, my virtue was unable to
overcome the evil inclination that led me to entangle my passion for
her between her bonds. I fixedly looked at her parting and her nape,
mentally wishing to produce a burning sensation in her that would
reach her head and from there to her beautiful Sex.
I was dying of passion for her; she widened my fly; begging the
Devil to help me:
-Satan, whisper in her ear and tell the girl that the man behind her
wants to masturbate with her braids and cum on her neck, as he did in
other times with her girlfriends, all of them whores .
Satan had to say something to the young woman, because she
moved in her seat and, before getting off at her stop, turned her head
back, noticing the slimy signs that I was sending her, because she fixed
me with a look of killer woman.
I smiled at her with my false teeth that moved in my jaws, she
could not avoid a smile that made her get off the bus in a hurry and
turn to me, already at the stop, showing me her boxer pose and tight
pants that she drew on her crotch the lips of her cunt.
I stuck my tongue out of it, making the gesture of licking it; but I
only licked the glass of the bus window that separated me from her.
She made me the "son of a bitch" sign with her right hand.
-Well, I told myself. What are you going to do? Any bad trip happens
to any one.
Daniel de Culla is a writer, poet, painter and photographer. He’s member of the Spanish Writers Association, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, (IA) International Authors,
Surrealism Art, Friends of The Blake Society, Nietzsche Circle, Red Internacional de Escritores por la Tierra, and others. Director of Gallo Tricolor Review, and Robespierre Review. He participated in many
Festivals of Poetry, and Theater, and has collaborated and collaborates with various magazines and reviews such as: Otoliths; The Stray Branch, Ariel Chart, The Penmen Review, The Sandy River
Review, Raven Cage Zine, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Envision Arts, Allien Buddha Zine, The Creativity Webzine, Lighten Up Online, The Poet Magazine, Paragraph Planet, Uppagus, ReSite, GloMag, Fleas on the Dog, LAROLA, RAL’M, Misery Tourism, Leavings, The Creative Zine, Terror House Press, PS: It’s Still Poetry, Open Doors Review,Tigers Shark Magazine, Words Rhymes & Rhythm, Synchronized Chaos Magazine, Athens Art, Street Cake, Littoral Magazine, The Poet Magazine, Best Poems encyclopedia, Ranger, and others. e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org. County of origin: Spain.City: Burgos.