Brush.
Faceless driver.
I keep replaying,
the violent curve –
my unlighted bicycle.
Pump ; drugged with
adrenaline…
bone crack pain coward
agonize no thoughts. I keep
replaying the scene,
the simple magnet of events.
I keep coloring the blood
against the asphalt,
drawing the feeling of crushed bone.
No thoughts and my eyes
on charcoal night.
To have died, doesn’t
seem so tragic now.
Death – finally!
Under the numinous
full moon!
lift up the glass
don’t drink
be one with the drop
under the glass
a miniature sky
swipe it with the hairs
of your arm
nostalgia from your mouth
honey on an elegant moustache
don’t laugh
your head is a surreal
boulder suspended atop a blade
be gone
stand under an oblique shadow
like a marble torso
pierced in agony
lift your fingers
five candles burning
with the oil of touch
you’ve been sleeping
while the days melt
into grotesque dozens
collect yourself
look around you
the invisible raw overtones
the cones elongated masks
perspectives as wide as yellow
despite its meaningless emptiness
I’m sure this is beauty
stagnant between two words
as it happened
yesterday,
sometime now
eventually never.
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.
Hurry
Spit it out
Cough up the phlegm of phenomena
The chunks of feeling caught between your teeth
The stench of memories
The bleeding gums that dawn, love and despair have corroded
Hurl the amalgam of sensation that never concentrates into meaning
Release a belch from the oozing pit of pain
Hurry
Drool a tiny string of age
Sneeze a jazz sound, a Pollock suspended in air
Spurt out onto napkins the vaulted skies
Sweat the burnt clay of slow and gentle hour
Let it out in trickles or exhalations the muddle and the smoke
Be done hurry become empty
Be empty before the fat feeds the fire
Before the bone becomes abysmal
Be empty – hurry
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
there you are
blue body of snake
there
beneath the breath
behind the burden
of the senses
I am flight
a descent
a morsel of dirt
cocooned in ideas
the world
is reaching its
final beginning
it goes no further
does not reach
the entrance
of an effect
there you are
solace
of abandon
there you are
partial savoring
of a totality
devoid of purpose
I found you
Today
in heavy shadows
that the clouds drag like
hazy tits over massive buildings
I felt like a child
draped in perception
between two fingers
grabbing every thought
like a tiny flake of ash
there you are
in my palate
rosy and peppery
as the fragrance of appearance
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.
light
breathable
settling in ever
heavier expanses
like millions of years of glaciers
shifting the crude element of skin
a ray in the spiral of a silent mood
fling the head like a child
oblivious of sight
of experience zooming out the pond into the sky
rocking up and down like a bird placing the sun
as an echo on the miraculous tree
away from the blue waters an afterimage
in the mouth of a fish
suspended
like minor fruit
in this vein of flight
glimpse
into the organs of thought
the measure and intelligence of an irrational kiss
repose
like a cluster of grapes
leaning their shadow
on anything but a memory.
I’m at war
with the world
its shapeless thrust
its violent repose
mutiny
against the world
a disfiguring cause
tingling morphing touch
a vengeance
a lone modicum of timelessness
fueled by: laughter
for all that exists
within and without
carried by an ant
on a sole journey of gust
rising lighter holier
this is war
against the irreconcilable meaning
against the backside of the world
against the frailty of a second
against the ineffable fringe
against the possibility
against the echoing madness
I’m all fury and decay
bringing down the world
from the heights of its
assumption.
it may be . . .
that nothing can be understood
that trees make waves of transparent flying ointment
birds fluttering wings in atomic curls of laughter
a pebble the size of pain sinking in the stomach
of minds with no hands sculpting the invisible thought
a hole in the ground where we plant a bone
so it blooms like a flower of striped fire
confusing the stars for our parents
and pale dry flakes of sin as our former selves
the hand making shadows on the empty wall of time
where nothing can be changed and we sit
on sidewalks oozing the ancient bubbles of speech
mirroring the breath of drying tobacco fields
and swimming where the saliva twirls in gold desire
because we did not control the first kiss
that enamored us with fatal bliss of birth
that ends in destined death
it may be . . .
that nothing can be understood
Beyond Language 
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