Meet
me
ageless
in
the
streets
we’ll
be bums
smoking
and
in flux
I don’t care
what the
price is
to
be
pure
as a
cigarette butt
burning out
in your
primordial
fingers
meet
me
to
announce a new
temple
for the
boundless:
a park bench
and empty beer
cans
at our
feet.
Half
the sky
in my laugh
shattered
into myriad
flakes
of clustering
snow
the white
concentrations
like palpitations
of the cloud
coming from
a vaguely symphonic
summit
where they touch
and perish
my drops
of comic
hours
I am a cosmic
view
behind the windows
longing
the cold
touch of something
external
Reality too sad
to be entrusted to the permanence of oblivion.
a young syllable
could escape
and make
a sun
within its
hermetic shadows.
I will remember the meaninglessness
how everything became
justified in its destruction,
a collapse so universal, it happens in an instant.
I dream about nothing and nothingness dreams about me.
Like two lovers morning and evening
rip off their names
and lie naked in the pure event.
I remember the laughter of the mystic,
his eyes flapping like wings in the open sky.
The mist of words
dissolving like incense
into the unknown.
NIHILISTIC Poetry
gray ground
nestling
the little curvaceous
seeking self
a methodical
appraisal of the
unintelligible
empty fields
arising
an axiomatic love
of chaos
and labyrinth
light never
ages
but its image
traverses time
the tree was spotted
as the period
at the end
of a graceful sentence
that spoke of
a timeless seed
the eyes that were
given to me
eloped with darkness
an affair
of unknown
qualities
and reverberations.
A day’s surface
its skin of smoke
ASTRAY
The world escapes
flickering like
a stream of thought
A glaring red instant
Remains
as the incomprehensible
dream of
e
m
p
t
i
n
e
s
s
.
The petal has rivers
long opulent light against the breast
solely swirls in silent colors
my skin upon the sky’s skin –
certainties are wrestling
over collapsing possibilities
the leap has a tinge of sorrow
the chain rattles
a river of petals
aging
on an empty
course to bliss.
.
have you seen
pee
splash wide
into a cascade
on the urinal wall
running freely
down the slope
of its white surface
wildly awake
before entering
the oblivious hole,
how I envision
all my decisions
thrusting forward
like a jet of pee
smashing against
the white mural of life,
how they would collapse
and stain the blank episode
of time
and inevitably surrender
like a trickle
that is swallowed
by a whirlpool of death…
No matter
what I write
this will never bear a name
all creation falls through
the empty sky
always falling
no hands here
to catch and retain
anything
no matter what
my memory is always empty
it has no truth
no one is here
to witness anything
the mind is uninhabited
and uncharted
a rock fell asleep
and this is its dream.
purl –
all being
swollen
in niches .
scattered salt
on the bare table
as solitudes of rock
an image of a cloud
like an errant soul .
red paint –
the smell of transmutation
a simple
color serving as garment
for the brief
invisible visit
of purpose.
What I employ
is not language
but the vivid shade
of movement and instinct
I have to be asleep
murmuring like a wide surface
of sea froth
twilight before the birth of pain;
my eyes expiring like new moons
in the obscure tingling of selfhood
only then
in that reflection
the hairs of the galaxies
sway like dark music,
the pupils expand
in one big womb of memory;
I remember
the place where the soul
used to be.
Beyond Language 
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