I shall be of slavery
sobbing in the night
when the moon is hidden
behind a fantastic mountain
I shall be of anger
heat upon heat
glowing insanely white
alone in the dawning desert
I shall be of lies
blood gurgling above
as the stars drown
in its sea of disease
I shall be of number
when the bronze prophecy
casts the skeleton of the fields
where children remember nothing
I shall be of incense
a sound perfuming clouds
or a string wringing time
leaving the last drop to dry
there are attempts
at writing.
nothing more.
the combinations
are infinite.
yet I never find
any published thought
that will survive
the caprices of history
evolution and death.
I find two words
in one effort to capture
it all,
two words echoing
long after the writer
has left the earth.
two words that are as unlikely
as they are ridiculous
to have been written.
I exist…
smoke touches brain
neurosis and all
have you seen it curl
like neurons thinking of clouds –
yes clouds are always in my mind
life is so barren of poetry
that the only word
that saves me is
CLOUD
a single
puff of shredded tobacco
cold in the lungs
a wild uproar of vapor
in the skyline of
awareness
abrupt
racing uphill
heart pumping
squirting out shells
and crusts
and monolithic diagrams
my breath is silver lining
in the outer whorl of moonlight
corridors immense
goddess growing in brain
sloughing the filament of skull
my face in hunt of tobacco
screaming, drawing out
like echoes of painful throbbing
motion for the race for the desperation
for the sharp pendulum
hovering over my neck
my traitor heart where is the end
to all this blood
carrying deadly time
in its rage
I saw a sun today
it was like a specter
belonging to unsolvable fiction,
it had a wide abyss
as a mouth
made of the purest light;
the naked trees
as deadly as knives
daggers defending the earth
from the intrusion of the sky,
it was worship
in the eyes, veiled by sight, bathed in perception,
drenched in mind;
it was like my whole life
was meant to be scorched
by this sun
and I would fail at everything
hereafter
except this rhapsody of
surrender.
finality
run by a strength
gathering in every bouquet of fire
that my lungs take in
in the crushed earth of my heart
with the noisy smoke of the blood
running stronger still
digesting the night as the sweetest charcoal
drunk with fire, hot demise
swimming in the lurid steam of desire
making love under the encroaching moon of suffering
the hand sloughing the disease of touch
the temptation to feel,
my goodness,
the strength that has gathered
spewing boulders as wild bullets of despair
impossible to even begin telling
about the layers and the failed anchors,
such force
is a miracle of the body
an outcome of the rocks and veins
a mistake of the mind;
finally
nothing can be revoked
I have tread many countries
but the distances that
have furrowed
my brow
have been traveled
along the course of a spiral
leading my wandering thought
I am intent on killing the air
merely by breathing in it
rending asunder
the many horizons
that lead us back
to this
moment
I have placed an ear
on the gravid belly of sadness
a heartbeat of melancholy
has spawned in me
eyes
a finger has severed
the surface of the water
the cold ripple
is my only
faith
I cracked open my skull
slid my hand
in its cup
by the raw emptiness
of this touch
I was delivered
I have begun to lean forward my head
the stupor, yes
but maybe,
an imminent plunge
into the absurd battle,
where little has control
often incoherent
incomplete
but ever
transforming.
Beyond Language 
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