Hinted
then ripple
of white gasp
the entire orb
of inspiration
then the clouds
the sun hiding
in total light
the task is to use a daub of paint
to depict a mistake
or a river of thought
or pain eating the soul
as if it were soft bread
I sense a feeling
empty of emptiness
it is full of invisibility
the irony is
the instant is like blood
never seen but intimately wrapped
a cut an explosion a gash perhaps
and the world is all red without words
like an apple
timeless
on the table.
Ethereal barabingbaraboom
I scream out joyfully for
not having aged a day
this awareness-of-time
of mine
I am the existence of the memory
and if eternity is the hunter
I’ve been deadmeat
forever.
to have known the lazy mote
short quivering dust drawing
letters fruits and tongues on invisible air
when these strangers, lovers
and broken loves waiting for the
train see the speck restless,
there and then, the trance of the path
whose swirl is as elementary
ancient as the nakedness of the sky
a speck who deserves as many words
thoughts and aches
as those we touch and hurt
a mote debonair in air
finds its rest gracefully
like drop of grey symphony
at the base of our feet
the hurried streak of beauty
to walk chaotically
on open midnights
hurl hums to cosmos
like a muddled beethoven
ahhhh the freedom of finitude
to live and die instantly
within this globe of atom –
I see you
vast manifold energy
spiraling around this
meaningless soul!
The horizon alights like a dormant lip.
The most important thing of the day
was not seen but felt.
Joy was not in me but around me.
Like a pool of emotion, I drift from
one spill to another. Joy. Boredom. Dread.
I’ve been wandering the whole day. Looking
at things as if they were rocks covered in moss.
The clouds were protagonists .
They are immobile, the city below balloons in ripples.
The line between the lips swallows the light,
the waves and the purpose.
A delicate gulp. Swollen with twilight.
One single nerve aches.
The one whose function
is to sense life.
Visualize
the first act
of violence
that gave meaning
to the word
‘violence’
the first dog
that symbolized the
genus of all dogs –
the moment
when abstract
was no longer
a word
but the whole history
of the world
Imagine
the timeless
before we gave
it a name
or happiness
before it
became a goal
or truth
when consciousness
was still ineffable
and nesting
Suppose
meaning
was the hardest
bone
and eternity
a living
cloud
Conceive
matter as the
drying spirit
or spirit
as the sleep
of atoms
Assume
if only once
that essence
is the entire
instant of life –
and death
is the entire
essence of poetry.
Hurry
Spit it out
Cough up the phlegm of phenomena
The chunks of feeling caught between your teeth
The stench of memories
The bleeding gums that dawn, love and despair have corroded
Hurl the amalgam of sensation that never concentrates into meaning
Release a belch from the oozing pit of pain
Hurry
Drool a tiny string of age
Sneeze a jazz sound, a Pollock suspended in air
Spurt out onto napkins the vaulted skies
Sweat the burnt clay of slow and gentle hour
Let it out in trickles or exhalations the muddle and the smoke
Be done hurry become empty
Be empty before the fat feeds the fire
Before the bone becomes abysmal
Be empty – hurry
there you are
blue body of snake
there
beneath the breath
behind the burden
of the senses
I am flight
a descent
a morsel of dirt
cocooned in ideas
the world
is reaching its
final beginning
it goes no further
does not reach
the entrance
of an effect
there you are
solace
of abandon
there you are
partial savoring
of a totality
devoid of purpose
I found you
Today
in heavy shadows
that the clouds drag like
hazy tits over massive buildings
I felt like a child
draped in perception
between two fingers
grabbing every thought
like a tiny flake of ash
there you are
in my palate
rosy and peppery
as the fragrance of appearance
i know
that your face
shining like a fog
is nothing
but emptiness
that your hand
sliding down
past my navel
grabs a cock
which is shapeless
i accept
the vows
and promises
of love
in a universe
of decay
i know
my love
you are a flutter
in the vast chain of being
and i have kissed
the fleeting
mystery of a lip
i comprehend
our nudity
as a mirage
and that words
coil around us
like fumes of legend
we
arbitrary
like a sun and fate
share a millennium
of spontaneity
i know
your face
is but a passage
an instrument
for the invisible
to be formulated
let’s rub
the falsity of our skins
against the
improbability of our bliss
infinite
you
and
delirious
me
A rose with its minds
blown off
because songs are dreaming eyes
the walls are stained with words
only listless hearts can erase their meaning
the epoch always without windows
we dress in smoke and carry guns of nebulae
and if there is agony
do not blame it on the category of your faults
like memory the numbers of pain will one day be outgrown
by a senseless architecture of self
one must oblige to the pressure of the evening
and if hairs have fallen from the holy hour
in giant swirls of time we’ll be as if
we’ve never been
a rose with its desires
crushed to a
solitary perfume
of clouds.
Beyond Language 
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