The rain has made
senseless x’s on the pane
beyond it
the turbulent clouds
initiate the horror
and a short trance,
my madness
no symbol
is free
to speak of mundane
matters
is now unacceptable
the world
useless as thing
but the most terrible
warning
an opening in the clouds
supine
on the ground
a yellow blindness
through eyes surrendering
I sense
blood fencing the sky
inside
an egg
of impatient
globular substance
a sufferer’s music.
the sensation of knowing
has faded
the congealing cement
our last coverture
ugly, reeking
and already alone
with a bullet of important birth
have the notes in the eyes
a melody of face and terror
the philosophers
have turned to the poetic
in depiction
the overt sorrow
of crocodile skins
this task of surveying
bland vast infinite
words not even mountains
to rest the moon
on their slopes
death and terror
sustained by repetitious
creation, a blind fountain
speaking for the absence
I
supplant
meaning
to extinguish
consolation
representation having failed
we rely on the cruel instant
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
if
some
fundamental
level
of reality
the blurry steps
of the passage of time
limbs moving, solitary breath
dying streams of flesh
darkness with short
explosions of light
everything is metamorphosis
formlessly attached
to the mind
the visible is unexplored
nobody sees the becoming
was
the world
collapsing
into my soul?
the greatest adventure
to have all the
planets in view
to be a leaf
and die like a
son
I gasped
and was
a child
so it is a lost
saddened
reality
who made it?
I was breathlessly
spellbound
the name of it
is there
but the maker
is long dead
to be drunk
awake
with the uninhabited
world below my knees
the eager moon
hungry for my course
I designate the sadness
at the street
death
the watch has said
death
tea
is in my mouth
morbid
florid pain
I’m watching
and nothing
effortlessly
febrile
useless personality
I am nothing more
silver meaning
rotten sound
kill me sage
here
A wild band of maniacs
command me
I am hostage
given the liberty
to think
but not to feel
they feed me futures
the bones of tasks
I am hunted
with a shield of invisible ideas
I am naked to the truth
hurting by the clouded horizon
I poeticize my hypocrisy
I am of thieves
after masks I’d like to kiss
I’m heading towards madness
together with my wild pack of beasts
There were so many things
left to do
the city had abrupt faces, ideals
our hands were eager with schemes
so full of intent and consequence
the flavors we would discover
some of the poetry entailed
but our hands were sealed
collapsing monuments on the bed
our bodies were already heavy
with the black of time,
we decided to end our lives
as naturally as a flow of music
our destiny was a quiet ending
alone in that dualism of self and terror
we would begin to fall
now sleeping towards
the arms of a nestling hiatus,
we began our descent
down the throat of nullity
certain that this abandoned world
was only a first dream
and that reality was fully awake
at the dawning clouds of death.
a found a mystic’s cloud
today
strange stream surfacing
motion maneuvering mirthfully
a found the tree under the shadow
objects reposing, the light untouched
today was so short
a flicker
as a beautiful face
turning the corner
never to be seen again
empty sand
in my hand
again
but at least
these shoes of ache
brushed by
the mystic’s lake
today.
The view
from here
is horrifying
I cannot
say
anything
nothing to add
to worthless
phenomena
there’s
nothing to be saved
in all this death-bound
totality.
I have chosen an exit
my finger is already in the sky
drawing up the clouds
they are dead with time
my music is blood running wild
I transient leap back and forth
the speed of pregnant vision
why is now a candied sound in my mouth
dissolving as a tongue of vapor
I laughed and cried
the tears come from above
they will plunge hard into the soil
of my mad domain.
There are years
that have made touch
sediment
on our skins
we are still waiting
for childhood
one that makes toys of truth
vast rivers of ignorance
bird of drunk chance
in the azure of unknown
we are now rock hard dead lives
from our cavernous eyes:
outside the fleeting world of fantasy
perplexing games naturally there –
we, nevertheless, have chosen dripstone repose
a slow stagnation
the light disappears
and I sense
we were shadows in the sun.
Beyond Language 
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