One day I took a look and there was a place. In that black density a lace began to arrange memory like a bow around every name that I remember, back then, throwing outside, out there, like small smooth stones. I craved to eat the clouds in the mud of my imagination; I was a child in rags (how many clouds had transpired) before I learnt a world was a word capable of eclipsing all the things of the world. So I craved to forget every flavor of sound to rediscover suddenly the purple of music under the noon of my eye. (Always I’ve been making things so real and why is there only an ugly street, this very instant). I remember softening the sky and making a drum in unison with horizon. I won’t claim here that I’ve invented the universe just because I’ve made giant centuries sleep in my mad silence. I’ve only borrowed infant atoms of late. Perhaps I’ve always been alone preexisting like a submarine below the surface of time. I’ve been waiting like a peculiar magnet unnoticed in the abyss. Perhaps this here is not an ugly street but a vein carrying the fatality of the dream to a new pulsation. Perhaps this reverie is not a quick line scrawled on another page of earth. I see now that the poet has started to unearth his own visions beneath the thirst of trees. I see him proudly unintelligible against all the violence of thought. I see now that the poet still craves the flesh of the clouds and has made brightness a bridge across a boundless place.
childhood
shadows
There are years
that have made touch
sediment
on our skins
we are still waiting
for childhood
one that makes toys of truth
vast rivers of ignorance
bird of drunk chance
in the azure of unknown
we are now rock hard dead lives
from our cavernous eyes:
outside the fleeting world of fantasy
perplexing games naturally there –
we, nevertheless, have chosen dripstone repose
a slow stagnation
the light disappears
and I sense
we were shadows in the sun.
A view of happiness
Happiness
is the fly
on the tip of my nose
that with the slightest
twitch
flies away
Happiness
is my beard
made of many individual
studs
always shaggy
thus never uniform
Happiness
is rebound love
a one-night stand
after I met Joy
before I knew Grace
Happiness
is my tongue
quiet and sparing
but drooling
for the divine
Happiness
is happiness
a rare antique
from my childhood’s
sleep.