Motion of orange limb
cloudlike epicenter
in the mindful gap
of my vision –
motion
bulging multitudes
of dismay
faraway kaleidoscope
in the origin of the mind,
of dense, opulent
location – married to
chance and improbability,
the bread of destiny
in the ruthless jaw of divine
novelistic forces –
a day here
and a bulge of eternal
there,
two
spiraling towards each other
like the allegories
of the eternal return
and the empty
nirvana.
It is there
a taste of machine
in my earth-rooted tongue
that although I am drenched
in phantasmagoria
my center is solid like
the bolt of physical law
it is there
a host of onerous mechanisms
LURKING
behind the quiet gleam
of motion
that in the splintered sky
of the treetops
a fabulous realm of myth, sleep
and transience is reposing
like the heavy fingers of god
but today
rocks are in my lungs
being ground for
the castles of math
and strategy
a player taken out
of the bench of chimera
to supply the field
with an extra glove of fact
today the world is no longer my metaphor
but the unalienable stage for
man’s work.
(old sketch from 2007 - Pablo Saborio -)
the analysis of answers
only oceans in the pocket of silence
the tapping of grave thunderous black keys
being nothing but drips of red soul
to hold hands with a concatenation of winds
born from the music of immeasurable pasts
something has reached high and deep
like the chalk of an artist
drawing shades and swirls
like empty names of
existence.
Cumulous figment of joy
the art of white eyes
I sense a bird stretching experience
colonizing an empty nest of laughter
my tongue is ripe with twilight
savoring the underbelly of clouds
their pink veins of magic
the iris coils on expanses of clarity
carmine volumes of essence.
Is there a possibility
of ache and wonder
some knowledge
of cave and cadence
has man
any recognition
of the dream
in the edifice
of infinity
the sun
is drowning
in red essence
everything
sleeps
like a butterfly
in flight
lucid
shapeless
earth.
I only dream
of filling the body with dry sand
to relegate desire to veins of darkness
flowing relentlessly towards a dragging sea –
if hands and fangs were buried in true illusion,
thirsty accidents and ultimate beginnings;
the taste of polar penumbras
to blind the eyes with totality
defoliate the skin as absurd autumns
to lay thought as a carpet over existence
and roll down the slopes of nothingness,
as the denuded birds throw off their wings
to join the worms wallowing in the mud
of my ancient heart.
Poem of dew legs
towards the heavy
impulse of bottom breath
the eyes turn road to exile
laughing culmination of clouds
poem of bitter it
ourselves tapping one universe
adhered living blindness
the motion of emptiness
the physics higher and unbroken
poem of tide or meaning
wrestling rustle of weight
hands dancing communication
the voice of whole suffering fingers
back and forth in speeding wounds
poem of cigarettes
transformation the blurry face
a voice of fatal fury
the organ of trembling gray
to smoke the blue song
a chasm of notes
eternally
behind the thistle
of your victim
eyes.
Horribly dreamt
I have a street
its conceptual secrets
like invisible rage
I pertain to abandonment
it hurts to disappear
wakefully vanishing
in the gaseous actuality
I roam like invisible pain
hidden behind monstrous eyes
eavesdropping, like sun of insects
interminably the hour and a smile
release… release my skin
hurdled over blank shrub
my feet slither pass the common earth
alive with some deadly truth
I run
and shattered are
the windows of lies.
I observe myself moving
rather consistently and sensibly
riding my bike in accordance to
god-knows-what prospect
going up steps dandily
sipping tea effortlessly
simultaneously
throbbing anguish
a howl permanently
outstretched, a gash
of purulent sound
like the grumbling
of a terribly cynical
mind
therefore
I am
nonplussed by
so innocent normality
I pretend to embody
while the hostility of the unknown
goddamned world
corners me to the tiniest
spot inside the human soul
almost immobile
condemned to see life as a
glassed-in fish
while in fact
I’m the last conscious thread
dangling atop the
immense abyss
of noise, shape and paradox
unquestionably a plaything
of innumerable forces and trickery;
bearing the high formulations of daily destiny
with a stupid smile and
hardwired etiquette –
all the while
expecting the towering walls
of reality
to finally to collapse
and bury me
in their
filthy falsity
The rain has made
senseless x’s on the pane
beyond it
the turbulent clouds
initiate the horror
and a short trance,
my madness
no symbol
is free
to speak of mundane
matters
is now unacceptable
the world
useless as thing
but the most terrible
warning
an opening in the clouds
supine
on the ground
a yellow blindness
through eyes surrendering
I sense
blood fencing the sky
inside
an egg
of impatient
globular substance
a sufferer’s music.
Beyond Language 
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