Memory is the flower
that is like a mirror
of sorrow and tomorrow
I have taken
onto the nipple
of eternity
through all milk
accrued in the instant
my aim
then is the arrow
of long melancholy
shot from your vastness
of hollowness
this land
where the orange orgasm
of massiveness
clouds the surface
there in that silk
of milk
I surrender
like a borrowed
meaning
I do not comprehend
trees
that spring from
the mind
with branches of ink
onto invisible paper –
the future
when did we
all become
dumb poets
composing
impossible fictions
nothing can be known
and oaks
stretching firm and stable
limbs
into tomorrow
do not really
exist.
A moments
core wandering
many hands invented
touching me – us
moment + the inner uncertainty
touched by silhouettes
possibly a mother
whose age is light and clarity
in a moment
the thought of progress dies
a face remembers the rock
of the bone
a circle around the things
we know
beyond it
the heart of the things
we cannot love.
A rose with its minds
blown off
because songs are dreaming eyes
the walls are stained with words
only listless hearts can erase their meaning
the epoch always without windows
we dress in smoke and carry guns of nebulae
and if there is agony
do not blame it on the category of your faults
like memory the numbers of pain will one day be outgrown
by a senseless architecture of self
one must oblige to the pressure of the evening
and if hairs have fallen from the holy hour
in giant swirls of time we’ll be as if
we’ve never been
a rose with its desires
crushed to a
solitary perfume
of clouds.
Don’t know how to drive.
Can’t even park
into huge chasms
of disquietude.
How can I comb
the hair of my
marble personality
under
the incredible wobble
of the universal flux –
my feet are spaghetti
and the air around
one gigantic block
of solid
impossibility.
I can’t breathe,
my incomplete dreams
have begun unfurling
in an inexplicable atmosphere
of suffering.
I’m in transit
seeking still
the passage
between skin
and universe
the boundaries
have begun to turn
into long
horizons of
coiling water
soon, I gather,
life and death
will collide
in one
tidal splash
of beauty
and I shall
stop
moving
and lay my head
on the meaning
of grass.
it is in that last
place
where life is surrendered
and in one flicker
we must die
absolutely
forgiving
beauty
for having existed
and now
been taken away
in one last
absurd breath
every moment
revolves around
that final moment
and if there is any meaning
it is this
the immeasurably short present
being swallowed by nothingness
all details
consumed and
blurred
it is this
single and
isolated tick
of time
where we live
and
unendingly
shiver.
In the breadth
of a human
hair,
to originate
in a
exiting ray
of sun;
all the elements
in the purpose
of extinction –
I have
faith:
existence fits
in a gulp
of now.
Meet
me
ageless
in
the
streets
we’ll
be bums
smoking
and
in flux
I don’t care
what the
price is
to
be
pure
as a
cigarette butt
burning out
in your
primordial
fingers
meet
me
to
announce a new
temple
for the
boundless:
a park bench
and empty beer
cans
at our
feet.
the shape of your neck
wrestling with my focus
I could have smiled
and twirled a spoon
in my coffee
to taste the dimensions
of your spiraling
lips
I’ve wondered
how your body
would resist
being against a window
freezing like dew
in the dawn
all that we study
to forget
the longitude
of an instant
laughter
– yours –
dripping
from above
and there is no
sky here
let’s repose
and dissolve
like heat
ripples
from a distance
over
an unfamiliar
path.
Beyond Language 
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