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.
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withdrawn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
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.
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.
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.
I took your lighter
because it contained
the history of fire
I lit up a cigarette
melting the tobacco
into the fluid of smoke
lava pouring into my lungs
and my pupils expanded
as ripples on glass
I took a sip of tea
heavy with that coat of earth
my tongue
plowing
through its spicy furrows
at this speed
my head was dizzy
banging against
the horizons of
abstraction
I was hungry
licking the enamel walls
of totality
dissolving its porticos
its buttresses
its ornaments
as my appetite
grew
with these ecstatic
fragments
I flicked
off the ash
and walked
away with
your lighter
sorry.
NIHILISTIC Poetry
I cannot wait
to be in your teeth
ripped apart
in black disguise
by your plotted fangs
and crushing grand schemes
I can’t wait
to be flotsam
that nobody finds
in your sea of control
rotten planks
sinking into an insignificant
quiet disappearance
I cannot wait
a minute longer
to be fake rice
in your fields of expansion
never becoming
more than a spot
of white nothingness
amidst your supreme
everything .
gray ground
nestling
the little curvaceous
seeking self
a methodical
appraisal of the
unintelligible
empty fields
arising
an axiomatic love
of chaos
and labyrinth
light never
ages
but its image
traverses time
the tree was spotted
as the period
at the end
of a graceful sentence
that spoke of
a timeless seed
the eyes that were
given to me
eloped with darkness
an affair
of unknown
qualities
and reverberations.
The petal has rivers
long opulent light against the breast
solely swirls in silent colors
my skin upon the sky’s skin –
certainties are wrestling
over collapsing possibilities
the leap has a tinge of sorrow
the chain rattles
a river of petals
aging
on an empty
course to bliss.
.
Beyond Language 
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