Hunger of blue void
the mirror of the sky
like a desk where I write
the big numbers of silence –
light blue song I imagine
traveling the fields of
my childhood, was
there a wrong window
in the house, an opposite
shadow to the sun?
Hunger blue beginning.
I’m ready to wrap the folds
of the blue world around me
and sleep, like an inebriated god,
through the eternities and the distances
of the missing answer.
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.
the horizon swells with rawness
a white cumulous beehive,
my thoughts circle the distance
like black heavy flies,
the hairs of time
stroking my mind
like the drunken summer of an engine;
the horizon swells with pink oil
all the trees are horses
with green galloping flowers as their
heads,
my joy is the shy protruding
obnubilation
frozen in the sky like a gray cusp of moon
–
I am the city
with the touch as long as the empty
avenues;
my eyes strange
as the streetlight’s gloom.
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.
why choose
sky as volatile
art form
nihilism or
the other side
of beauty
or dimension
as a monstrous step
forward into the
wild
there
in unison
poetry and nature
blend as I stare
towards the
illusion
I chose
to be an insect
cradled in some
unspeakable obscurity
these are great steps
to take
and leaps of sense,
allowing
everything to be
and to be gone
What I ask of you
is to invent a reason
something of a shade
like a morsel of labyrinth,
to shed a tear
like a long branch of truth,
a solitude that has the figure
of a stranger followed by smoke,
something that I need is so elemental
like the way you tear away the wings
faithless in the heights,
what I ask is for you to turn around
bright, tangible and ancient
peeling naked our sense,
it is not hope that I seek
but in infallible squalor
to touch your name.
I once had a rock
whose dream bordered on nuclei
mountain under incisive noise;
the mechanism of logic
all tender and imprecise –
the causal tornado of action
reward and dissatisfaction –
the rock
broke
in two
there was no more
rock inside the rock
there was emptiness
free unbounded liberty
vast heroic essence
uninterrupted by the nuisance
of knowledge
rolling rocks crumbs
down the precipice
of reality
free at last.
She is my pond
I drown
her innocuous waters
I drown
leagues infinite bottom
I drown
and never die
her waters are hands of mothers
her currents womblike sighs
I drown
songs that swim like free fish
my pond
the place where I dissolve
like a borderless ripple
she is my pond
where I drown
ineffably
in an entropy of love.
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.
I am caught
inside the instant
of capture
my life a
photograph
in your unphotogenic hands
I am waiting
for the broadcasting
of shadows
in my primetime doubts
a ringtone of astrology
guiding me into my sins
I am needing
autoplay in my decisions
long playlists of pseudotruths
in my routine as an
answering
machine
that has
no
answers.
nihilistic poetry
Beyond Language 
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