so much
to tear a song
from artery
and replace the
heart for a warmer
stone
a rivulet of memory
without ultimate value
a field where
the truth bends
as incense
when sleep
is a crumb
of eternity
an immense
solitude
in darkness
souls in flakes perhaps
sore of flight
come to alight
in strange dances of silence
what fever
by which the stars
seem like children
dim against the
thickness of the world
I have the hands of a dictator.
Thoughts of a circle
and a pretty bloated lower lip.
I wake up some days thinking
how many galaxies are needed
for this life to be indubitably
insignificant.
I look at the mirror,
those eyes like clouded enigmas.
And then come the words,
like heavy storms of smoke.
If the sky were glass to break;
but I settle for grunge.
While to most life is a gulf,
to me
the world is a knife
two parallel lines
that meet at the horizon
to stab me right
in the middle
of my unseen heart.
within the
last moment
when you lift
existence
as a weightless
fish in your hands
when the road
becomes your tail
shivering
as the endless
echo of the earth
when nothing else
shall come
and the eyes dance
as flies in the darkest air
within the last
pause of perception
when
the blood becomes
still as the shadow
on the ground;
a white butterfly
leaves your mouth
to be carried away
by the gale of
silence
unable to wake
I remained
behind the ruin of a memory
a Chinese serpent
swerving in the currents
of my dormant eyelids
nothingness was a province
where an obsidian pyramid
stood against a starless night
there in bed
roving like a raving raven
within the
delicate depths of darkness
surrounded by
a deep moat –
the dark waters
of space
swallowing any ray of light
that may cross over
to my dispossessed eyes
lone
existing alone
light as perishable infancy;
heavy as a bridge above years
a statue
untying itself
from its surface
of imitation
so I squandered the imported
bullion of dreams
and with quivering fascination
became empty and
bankrupt
of image
unable to wake
I surrendered
like
a history
written on the soft
tissue of the spirit –
never to be
read.
I will sleep tonight
cargoless
adding only to my lightness
the thickening trickle of a trance
to behold the failing world
cradled by darkness
such is my noiseless faith
to whom belongs today
when it is already recollection
the eyes drown in intimate vastness
the ears dip into soft limbo
the earth and its history
recede and disappear
as does the voice
that defined them.
Visualize
the first act
of violence
that gave meaning
to the word
‘violence’
the first dog
that symbolized the
genus of all dogs –
the moment
when abstract
was no longer
a word
but the whole history
of the world
Imagine
the timeless
before we gave
it a name
or happiness
before it
became a goal
or truth
when consciousness
was still ineffable
and nesting
Suppose
meaning
was the hardest
bone
and eternity
a living
cloud
Conceive
matter as the
drying spirit
or spirit
as the sleep
of atoms
Assume
if only once
that essence
is the entire
instant of life –
and death
is the entire
essence of poetry.
I hear
the world celebrate
another hour
another drop of time
another innocent tick of the clock
their voices unite in aggressive shapes
of extreme joy
another noon
another fulcrum
their austere clasped hands
held high in new directions
upon a crescent
rising towards a vanishing point
another compound
another openness
sirens wail in the open street
the cavalry proceeds in metal consonant
another descent of the moon
another compendium of light and shadow
I hear the world
positively amidst the churning voids
proceeding full of gaiety and culture
another pyramid
another stretch
I hear them
almost transcending the bronze
of the horizon
another century
another column toward infinite
their bones are statues with slanting
shadows
I hear the world
celebrate the happiness of the arc
another navel
another marble testament
a world without king
I hear the wind intersect
the hollow texture of the dream
I hear them
unified in tempo
against nothing at all.
perspired in ripple
dragged by impetus
over vain terrain of event
a paper full of waste
is dropped into water
it lives
determined
burgeoning like a flower
we flush
while the ash still clings
to the fingers
at the light
I stop
feeling the cornucopia of memories
solidifying as crystals in a cave
the petals of sweat
have drowned in a spiral
the longest arch
cuts the sky
from my cigarette a
doddle escapes
to meet the gliding
serpent of the stars.
My eternity
is the wall
holy plane of cement
there
a bird
stuck in solid whiteness
upon inspection
the rusty limb
of a nail
dawn is
but a hole
a minor cave
between two framed
photographs of the sky
of Arizona
a babel rising
against this vertical horizon
books and books
leaning against
my immobile infinity
a finger
combs the
miniscule craters
as if caressing
a tooth of God
my wall
neither
warm or cold
a monk’s sigh
converted to stone
Anything can happen
rocks can fall off your bed
and smash the little structure of happiness
we had on the floor
the lamp can explode
into milliard moths
that fly into a whole neurosis
the moon can leap into your soup
drowning behind an outshining pea
anything
like biting off the nails of your assumptions
until hitting the hard red pain of delusion
you can even lose your marbles
drop them along the way
because you run after
the bigger tumbleweed of truth
anything can happen
when the world is an empty
chord reflected
from the wings
of a sleeping
butterfly.
Beyond Language 
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