by then
i had crossed
the reason
language was tender
naive and insipid
i was beginning to write
verse
with motion
perspective
a salving madness
i began asking
for the drop
to steal
heaven
a spark in the horizon
a mission
a long-drawn laughter
after the joke of life
had been exposed
it was with all the things
we came to know
that i crossed
the sadness
at last
alone
by the emptiness
of the road.
I begin
to
approach
you
with a scarcity
of words
a simple
symbol:
snow
contains
the entire mode
of your
being.
This is my chance
to render existence
beautiful, justify it all
this is my chance
to leave a mark
in the thicket of irrelevance
that encircles life
this is my chance to create a gem
of poetry and longing
the universe
I see
is but a sketch
an attempt
the purest game
miracle comes in between
the things that are by chance real
I love its
magic
I am touching
the soul with silence
– that art thou
stargazing the mind
this is my chance
to suffer
the wisdom of solitude
my only voice
to reach out
to
you
and so it was,
poetry: a deliberate madness
serene, thoughtful, full of strange distances
hanging names on the limbs of details
giving sound a place to rest
all things visited from sidelong silences
things: worshipped and often obscuring
the sudden flight of city birds
exactly because my sight was bolted
to that eerie spasm of the sky
the spaces neglected for the general purpose
of a somnolent rain
I speak: world
in order to feel: existence
the challenge of light and above all ideas
pulverized movement near disfigured events
dates as calmly as pulsations
inventing, attempting, redefining
something that enters the invaded dream
the inundated reality that spears me.
there are rare days
that begin
with orchestras crying my eyes
colors dripping memories
city strolls in mammoth steps
I carry pocket-sized chaos
on my shoulder, pretending to be a pirate
on the sea of modernity,
off we sail
into the wind
as plastic wrap
buoyant on meaninglessness
there are rare days
that begin
with suspension points
calmly insinuating that
life is passing by
there are rare days
that begin
with tiny airplanes tied to the tips
of my fingers
seems like I’m about to take off
but then I remember
the anchors tied to my toes
that sink me
into
never mind.
Modern Poetry Blog
who needs words
paper trojans!
inky farts!
infectious buzz!
belligerent blindfolded data!
classicist’s hard on!
bimbo parenthetical!
tomboy aphorism!
divorce schism-stamp!
bubbler vituperation!
unconscious monologue!
irrelevant ode!
what more is there to tell
when reality is full of cracks
ready for my mind-bending penetration!
it is in your cleavage
golden mother substance
that I surrender
as a drowning pinpoint
awaiting the thump
at the bottom
of the
rootless
age.
Jet stream of time
squirting months
momentarily too late
to do anything
that will save the moment
history has me by the skin
I am all biodegradable
compost for the unknown
developing
appetite for the instant
that will last for centuries
the idiot
as I am
seeing time
as a machine
industrialized for more
there is fluidity
in this duration
that spreads like a flood
over the coastlines
of my
isolated sojourn.
Mi lecho
es sustancia placentera
como placenta
donde los sueños
se mueven en corrientes
de un mar maternal
es aquí
donde las formas
crecen y mueren
en su bella transformación
donde los sentidos
se extienden
como hojas al final de
una palma insular
situada céntrica
en glóbulo de misterio
es justo aquí
donde descanso mi cabeza
y brotan de mi gris
las fantasías inauditas
de un incesante
ciclo
My creator
has abandoned me
the hands that spun these
verses
are now caressing
night axioms and
mysticisms,
the poet left
me
a poem
sunken
somewhere lost
in the motions
of the automatic world,
I am the victim
a spirit
that occupies briefly
whatever soul
treads these words
but, alas
ultimately doomed
to perish
as your
eyes
approach
my final
sigh.
Beyond Language 
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