I remember
the hungry birth I never had
and while I’m rolling like a pebble
down on a mountain I’ve never seen
I sense the abyss that does not exist
full of sand
frenetic inside a wave
following a cyclic course
with bubbles bursting
in a memory of circles.
buried
in red
illusion
in the anthropomorphism
of ginger youth
in the great convulsion of beauty
affliction mirror fountain and edge
in dense mist of light
waiting for events
to dissolve
in
truest
red illusion
a hum
emerging
like hot laughter
from the frozen
fields of ego
Why are there so many triangles in my fear?
Some oval fish ate my joy,
only a box left empty
but for its red swollen soul;
how did you get that chain reaction lodged in your face,
god what handwork in that knitted viel
the wool has the age of a spiral
and the shine of measurements –
parallel to the material of gasps,
little tales of windows
peering into the empty
square of a life
I came for the evening
the portico
and the shade of cathedrals
—-
a dialogue
with a candle
and
the riddle of smoke
—-
a flicker
the effortless certainly
that I’ll never
wake up from the ambiguous
—-
I came for the rust
and the leaves of autumn
perhaps
You, flesh and bone,
gas and scars
of phenomena.
My hand slides down your ranges
into the pockets of pleasure,
the possibility of birth and gargantuan
orgasm.
The winding road of decisions
and the soporiferous wind blowing
of distant causes.
The trees have danced,
reenacting the groove of colliding
cosmic bulges in the rhythm
of passing gusts.
We do the same?
In silent gaze, creating
the torture of possibility
with endless and mapping thoughts?
You and winged beasts
from dawn. Red and innocent –
open mouth and chants
from the sky… where
we belong as tinges
of intangible.
I have the world
like pulp
inside my fist.
The juice that drips
like concentrates
of dream.
Wait!
I refuse to describe you.
World you are in my grasp,
but I refuse to recite your
casual contents.
I have eloped with silence,
my petty pet.
The words smell each other
leaning against the tempest
an odor of absurdity
as the world mechanism
smashes your
head
against the window of
a satanic sky –
oh cause and effect
or the inevitable
question
of:
are we alone
in infinite shallowness
of thought?
the teeth of sky
grinding skulls
like mustard seeds
– a sigh –
the memory of light/anonymously.
I was divagating in a fluidity of language
collecting in the subjective aroma of an objective pinpoint
a star deriving its presence by its undulating waste of light.
I contained the arching earth and the moon
pretended to shift through the clouds of a mind
like an unconscious mirror spinning.
The arrow of the sensation was pointed
towards a nectarous instant of sound
a long necklace of harmonies.
My hour is traveling through imaginary pleasing effects
the seconds are my mistresses in red corduroy –
the age – a vague perfume of disparate dimensions.
take some
seed
of
the
noise
steal a
sky
from the
clouded silence
trace
the
color
of this fictitious
birth
engrave
the
nail of death
in the blood
of fear
collect
the
honey
like a
bee of
queenless nights
measure
the eye
and taste the
tongue
of the eternal
nectarous
DOUBT.
Motion of orange limb
cloudlike epicenter
in the mindful gap
of my vision –
motion
bulging multitudes
of dismay
faraway kaleidoscope
in the origin of the mind,
of dense, opulent
location – married to
chance and improbability,
the bread of destiny
in the ruthless jaw of divine
novelistic forces –
a day here
and a bulge of eternal
there,
two
spiraling towards each other
like the allegories
of the eternal return
and the empty
nirvana.
Beyond Language 
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