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.
I became an observer
a type of man within the man
not in the act
rather somewhere between
the meaning and the purpose,
I see him from abroad
I am always in another land,
he often follows a plan
making haste and waste
of the hours
I don’t talk to him
he’s too busy feeling down
or doing the dishes,
I let him run
the government of duty
I see his fortress of pain
from my tiny exile
I have visions,
seeing him old
brittle like flakes of rust,
confounded
not sure of what’s to come;
I pretend
to be dreaming
and nothing more
that man
is my only friend
like a good old book
I peruse in my
wayfaring days
like a star
in the night sky
that’s been dead
for years
I kept
the elements tightly
together
coated by the universe
of my skin,
in there I live too
throwing in the fire
the logs of life,
waiting for the blaze
to engulf all nature
and allow me a glimpse
of some bliss
at the other end
of
living.
the distance
of things from my center
together with the dripping self
language rests as a drop
on a fatal slope
or a sound in frozen space
I have hands
but they never touch
anything
I have thoughts
but they never refer
to anything
and while I feel like cancer
growing on the insides
of my own soul;
I have bled beauty
like a suicide of god
there are areas of life
inaccessible and foreign
my flesh is ghostly
my feelings barely perceived
I am like a spark
engulfed in its luminosity
and everything beyond it
staggering darkness
in that incomprehensibility
I move and dying.
I have to get away
from poetry
need to stop
focusing on the
details and the needlework
of perception
need to live the gross
average
collision course life
of the
rest
need to rediscover
minutes
as meaningless
traps
need to make routine
again an instinctive
straightjacket
need to somehow
buy a house
and stock it up
with liquor
need to begin
worrying
about that silly
little race
that goes by
the name
of
happiness.
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.
It keeps me warm
threads and threads
a wonderful composition
to keep me warm;
I bought it and now it keeps me warm
it has fortified my skin,
I am a modern bear.
I walk with my coat
the streets are windy
but the coat hangs on
it falls naturally on my shoulders,
I am its underlying foundation,
therefore I must exist under it.
I am hungry
contractions and blurring agonies,
I am okay
but I must touch food soon,
then swallow it
and then it becomes me
I become it:
we must both exist at some point.
The bicycle has wheels
they roll on a surface,
a hard one,
I am fast; to be fast
there is weight, force
I am a force in motion.
I see the bakery
full of smells and heat
many folk are in there
bread is being sold,
I have some money:
I must be at the right place.
I park my bicycle,
rationally, I am locking it
removing the key from the lock
the bike sways and wants to fall,
I catch it because it should not fall;
they are not supposed to fall –
a car glides behind me –
why would we let bikes fall to the ground,
what would happen, who would I become
if I had permitted this bike to fall;
what kind of man would I have become.
Mouth is watery
mushy croissant in my savory mouth
this pulp goes down my throat,
it falls,
this is allowed fall.
I leave the bike –
cannot deal with questions right now –
walking is natural, effortless
step, step, step, step, step, step
kind of percussion,
I must be an artist.
I went astray,
is this the north of the south
or the west of the east,
this place is relative to something
I know that much.
They are talking about shoes
shoes are valuable
they are like hard feet for hard surfaces,
these girls use their hands when they speak:
hands must also be part of language.
I must return, somehow
because if I remain lost too long
I might not be me anymore;
with so many new sights
I might disappear in these perceptions.
TO DOWNTOWN,
there it is, an arrow
pointing to my universe;
back there I can be caressed again
by the same old things I know:
we exist side by side.
Step, step, step, step
this is my home, my street, my block
my mailbox has a name
the floors have numbers
the door has a lock and I possess its key
and I pretty certain that I keep track
of who I really am.
the relationship
between
pen and poet
image and reality
truth and death
in essence
eclipse
me
these are merely
attempts
to
validate
my impotence
in matters of
ultimate reasons
the truth is soulless
the soul is decadence
decadence is poetic
beauty has to be discovered
with these lines
nothing is certain
but
after my death
they cannot
be
otherwise
an axiom that is simultaneously
a preposition
as an aspect of infinite action
all poetry is excerpts
prismatic layers
of the unknown mind
mysterious voices
crucified on paper
in
awe
I’ve come close
to developing incurable nausea
biting the world so often
it’s starting to swarm like primordial chaos’s pulp
lingering in my mouth
it proliferates in my stomach
constant genesis out my ass
yet
the feeling is still there
I’ve had too much of it
I need a new distraction
perhaps
ex nihilo
I can invent a death
so pristine
it returns to life
its facet of dream.
Stepping-stones on an open fall
my limbs remind me of crying cataracts
the fall is unique
relative to some approaching infinity
all my thoughts are grounded solely on the black stream
an overarching view of decay
some inexplicable love wraps the beauty of my despair
trust? there is an absolute leap of faith
relying less on the Goodness of this destruction
more on the emptiness of my command
whatever remains. An option to abort
a compulsory surrender
that carries this night
as a flavor to life.
Beyond Language 
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