Remember
when we met
by that corner of a disguise
talking with the stillness
that is common to oil
it was an early October blizzard
that trapped us before
we’ve identified our inertia
locked in that cold
with a bottle of vodka and
letters from Rilke
we drank the last drop
of our nihilism
ready to die there
or live on perpetually
with no sense at all.
I left the office shy of two o’clock
gaining inside a shudder that could reach
just beyond the boundary of solitude.
I raised this old neck of mine
the sky was me.
Belonging to dreams we no longer dare to glimpse
futures too powerful too bear
fears that out of plain habit
covered me like husks of wisdom.
So eternally blue – with the intensity of an S
similar to the smell of dawn, depths of now
bright as selflessness
blue as sky.
A kind of rejoicing, a mystic’s forgotten book
and the glory of erased words!
TO return, live a thousand sleeps
one more lonely death
varying degrees of godless hours
those dissipated moments
hungry of freedom, so easily obscured.
Bury me in lands of mute plants.
Blind pasts, unimportant futures.
The sky was me, I turned
I had gone away… hands overflowing possibility.
Beyond Language 
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