I begin to salivate
with the thought of dedicating
an entire life to poetry,
a voracious appetite to eat
the great voids of nature and spirit;
that while indigent
I can still satiate mi hunger
with the stillness of the mountains
and the spring of the sky
that runs sweet
night and day.
With a weightless sky in my eye
I drown in arabesque
can I blame the world
for appearing to be so real?
while walking in silence
I observed the solidity
the light calmly on the mundane;
something unfolding I called it wholeness
occult like a spirit
clever and persistent
behind the visible path that I take,
locality and image
are still my playthings
and yet something calls
like a spell to jump
into the final
unknown.
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
it is the air expanding
leaning invisibly
on the things
that lie awake
in the oblivion of
our acts
it’s in the hair
how it flees
description
under a delirium
of nods
it is your hand playing
with the light and motion
of a naïve hour
a choice
forever collapsing
in the past
it is melancholy
beading slowly
these pearls of remembrance
in the wasteful hand
of a poet.
I have tread many countries
but the distances that
have furrowed
my brow
have been traveled
along the course of a spiral
leading my wandering thought
I am intent on killing the air
merely by breathing in it
rending asunder
the many horizons
that lead us back
to this
moment
I have placed an ear
on the gravid belly of sadness
a heartbeat of melancholy
has spawned in me
eyes
a finger has severed
the surface of the water
the cold ripple
is my only
faith
I cracked open my skull
slid my hand
in its cup
by the raw emptiness
of this touch
I was delivered
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.
the downward slide of space
bare, exposing long origins
amassing by layers
as if it were sediments of time –
and these drops on the pane
are the benevolent visit
of superfluous beauty
that I smuggle into
the vain territory
of life
I’m ready to wing a logic
a mode of airborne communication
something of this collapse
can be spied upon
from above
with skeletons
we induce the flesh
the art and the tool;
so with these rudimentary droplets
the underlayer element
begins to fume
as a fire burning on
infinity
hush…
it’s gone.
Today
why is not important
too listless to find a solution
thoughts my insomniacs
found today a sheltering slumber,
mystery persists –
but only as an unobtrusive undertone to the ordinary;
a tree was all I needed
to feel that something exists in its own right,
a puddle of trapped water enough
to convince me
that the world is not as deep as I imagined.
my task is very
simple
observation
untroubled
the battle for
satisfaction
is over
I’m resting my head on phenomena
like on the exposed
breast of my lover
open eyes
breathing
allowing the world
to play with itself
I move cloudlike
I think rocklike
keeping record of things
for this lost history of the soul
I am heaping like an
intersection
of instances
dispersing as the floral
loop of sleep
tangibly draped with invisibility
the static beeping of my departure
witnessing the burst of egos
so uncontrollably distant from each other
in the topography of my identity
I am lost between the trees and the forest
I can’t see the wood
for the raw wildfire of my
existence
all I am saying is that I have no control
in moments like these
being a Buddhist
would have been a good idea.
Modern Poetry Blog
Beyond Language 
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