Everything you do
begins with a silence
you can traverse
the distances
that keep you away
from the divine
but you look back
and the starting point
is blurred
I have been pilgrimage
traveled far,
but
in relation to what?
all is opinion
the poet is a collector
of fragments
the pieces of modernity
scattered mercilessly
over the ruins of decay
the theory emerges
the broken data
a human heart
halfway down the
spear
I threw to infinity
an attempt to coexist
with the rational
and the irrational
landscapes of words
not yet
conceived
I give you the stars
for the constellations
you’ll hang
over the lake
of your
core.
Beyond Language 
–the space for creativity that ‘silence’ creates–
mmmm
on average, the human
heart discards point
two megabytes of broken
data per second, leaving
a distinct taste of loss
in the air for sixteen
seconds just right after –
and should a lucky poet
be passing by, packing
a pair of powder-
free latex gloves and
the finest tweezers, he
or she may gingerly
pinch the fallen
fragments, take them
home to rinse and
hang-dry for a week,
before refashioning
them into something
useful to a beating
heart again
.
20100308:1431
y
its none of my business but have you ever been in love. Because iam in love –in love with your words. why not visit stockholm and share me your great knowlege of words. welcome to Sweden. Ok