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
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Beyond Language 
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