Now that the entire world
has retreated to a thaw
now that from a rooftop
I see a raw galaxy dangling
from the beak of a bird
now that the earth
is a great rippling mantle
like a set of loose hair in a golden head
now that the entire world
as soft and pliable as moist leaf of tobacco
now that the planet is flotsam
drifting in the viscous current of sensation
now
we can sleep
in its academy of colors
now
we immerse our heads
in the surrounding cradling
dream
We are table
glass on the table
glass ejaculating shadow
on the table
and light on the table
light that rises like smoke
from the table
smoke leaving the cigarette butt
that had died on the table
mist ascending from the table
to the light bulb
reaching the spark
that illumined the table
the judgment
the judgment upon table
we are all but the table
the lonely wisp of nothingness
that our table bears
like skin and vein
that remain on the table
we are this
cold and narrow
edge of table.
peeling off the whiteness
of stream
of consciousness
washing it
with the sterile lore
of silence
preserving its restlessness
in the hermetic jar
of time
feeding it the shadow
of leaves
the crumbs of wind
that I find
warming it
with the thick songs
of essence
talking to it
with the vowels
of night and day
loving it
despite
the shapeless ache
it leaves in my
heart
All day
within blank
withdrawn
nothing but the hard
pillows of my thoughts
dead past
hauled by brittle filaments
of memory
the vast tomorrow
so enormous
it’s still uncertain
whether its obese fingers
can fit in my door
and carry me away
into its dark irresolute
secret
a window is opened
a whiff of essential black fate
I’ll sleep with a key over my chest
as if the heart can open its vault
to love
vis-à-vis
the engine
of the unknown
it may be . . .
that nothing can be understood
that trees make waves of transparent flying ointment
birds fluttering wings in atomic curls of laughter
a pebble the size of pain sinking in the stomach
of minds with no hands sculpting the invisible thought
a hole in the ground where we plant a bone
so it blooms like a flower of striped fire
confusing the stars for our parents
and pale dry flakes of sin as our former selves
the hand making shadows on the empty wall of time
where nothing can be changed and we sit
on sidewalks oozing the ancient bubbles of speech
mirroring the breath of drying tobacco fields
and swimming where the saliva twirls in gold desire
because we did not control the first kiss
that enamored us with fatal bliss of birth
that ends in destined death
it may be . . .
that nothing can be understood
I left
in the middle
of a cloudless night
as a thief
to snatch one orphan
ray of moonshine
I was drunk
between cathedrals and labyrinths
looking for the crackling
sound of a tiny star
I wandered along this
heaven of dirt
peeking under every shadow
for a trace the hidden
mass of an eclipse
over bridges and blackouts
I followed the scent
of a spiraling infinity
never reaching its end
I awoke
with a black
layer of eternity
as a rag
over my sore
and swollen skin.
I saw a yellow house
a pillow
and a mother
that would not explain
the wind carried
the stars
like debris
my tongue’s tip
did not catch any
how the sadness
clings onto
the rustle of a leaf
I could describe
with lines and perspectives
the memory that
brought me here
beyond that memory
empty flashes of shadows
and hungry panthers of light
I saw
my hand
touch the world
like a
mirror
reflecting
a dance.
i’m stuck
between
the two
unproven
premises
of logic
i’ve heard
the preacher
and his coax
of science
i drink
and therefore
fuck
the whore
of faith
my delicate
finger
is up the
annals
of art
with no
respite
i know
no
value
the
things
we
pretend
to know
in the sperm
of time
There are
moments
when the earth
shakes likes ripples of myth
and the epic
begins
when a fallen
brown leaf
slowly returns
to its green nascent
breath
we leave in every nook
a morning of sighs
and the little signs
of a bygone nostalgia
because all attempts
fall into the crevice
of yesterday
and the dripping minute
serves as an eternity
for the drunks
with whom I share
my nights in delirium
within the occult temple
of a bar.
clasped as a bud
within its own
infant leaves
suddenly we remember
we’ve never been
within the stripes
of time
how many grains
of sand fit
within a hollow thought
the pure shadow
of her eyes
sways like
a song I
heard inside a
crystal
a single forest
grows from the
myriad chimes
of fate
I sleep
under its concave
leaves
awaiting
for the worms
to crawl into
my dreams
suddenly you remember
we’ve been immersed
within immense
sorrow
and you let
the sweat become
dew
clutched to the
skin of
a new day.
Beyond Language 
You must be logged in to post a comment.