Whole fucking words
can’t fill a single
moment
hard bark of sperm
coming from black
this white yellow
constellation of
possibilities
I see wall
burnt color
I hear breath
as brick
against brick
ah yea
desires
run like free
cockroaches
on my kitchen
soul
oh fuck
I’m coming
again to
your image
bah
poetry
I have one penny of certainty,
to buy a glimpse of sky.
Then hunger and reckless
vortex of night.
Mankind is as sweet
as a machine’s ambition.
I am the bitter cog.
But allow something like a flower
to grow from this
stump of philosophy.
A fragrance or hope,
a whiff of purpose.
To suffer is a fortune,
and pleasure a Pyrrhic victory.
When I lay paint
on the canvas, I press
hard all the colors
towards a grey pact.
There was once
bright red love,
cold blue thought,
intense yellow joy,
dark green solitude.
Today the mess
is grey and this totality
cannot be undone.
I carry this enterprise
of chaos towards a prism;
perhaps if reflected
far beyond the senses,
this senselessness,
will make sense.
as a man
stepping intangibly
on shadows
over illusions
one more man
that wishes to
scar the universe
one more man
defiant, futile
and ergo
drunk
a man
without claw
or reason
still looking
for a single star
in the black sky
of his heart
If a closed
pair of eyes where
I could crowd
the effusiveness of 16
hours spent in doubt
and awe,
if I could stitch the
wonderful cloud
of perception behind
the dark mirror
of sleep,
if a coarse
hum of cars could
kindle the low brass
handsome innocence
of the thunder,
if the cocks collide
at hilarious dawns
in darkness the pupils
empty of light
to be cups brimming
with the honey of sense,
if the boulders of the eyes
spewed by the dreamer
land far away
in raw fields of
bliss
now that light
rather than words
is the vehicle
of reality
now that language
has ended
its journey
now that sunlight
is pregnant
with passage
I must forfeit
the concept
and be thick
with tears
life is not
happiness
but the stage
where things erupt
love is the eye
making love
to the light
Oh who would know
the meaning of having an eye
on every atom that springs
from no to yes
but it would not be god or opiated man in bed
it would be the distinct essence of a cloud
leaving the sky to rest like a heavy rock
at the bottom of the restless sea,
so extreme an image
that our souls will coil
around the shortest memory
to remember the first patch of light
that burnt the skin with warmth
to remember the first arrow of sound
to pierce the nimbus of silence
to remember the first and only object
that grew like wings to become a universe; –
how would anyone fail to notice the sun
is only the light on the surface
of the image?
I fear the same stone of light that you fear. I am the bone and you are the sky. We are earth hidden within the mines of space. Darkness – like a baby – hangs from our necks. If there were knowledge there’d be no action. Pure restless surrender. I fear the pause, the allotted time. It sinks, truthfully. I know we cherish the denial of our times. Like young nihilists. I dug for truth, through turd and stink. The gold of meaning, the diamond of certainty. Years have not been wasted – we see our excavations. Emptiness. Holes. Awakening. There is nothing. We’ve dug holes, nothing more; philosophical pits. The cradles of our deaths. They are beautiful, waiting, obvious. The discovery of nothing: the day everything changed. What do you seek? What value? What supreme encounter? Now, it’s too late. Death is not speculation but the premise. All postulates inevitably incomplete. I fear that same conclusion. But it is here. Like a spark, like lightning. Like love and ephemeral.
Nothing.
yeah years teeth in sun
matter
piles up
dry
out there
waking
which is a breath
half air
half tear
obedient bodies die
these melodies
of tragedies
nothing more
than an idea of
awareness
this geology of memory
experience
breaks inevitable like waves
on far distant moon
unable to alter
the course
of inane atoms
the waves keep crashing
on the thinning stone
that life
half-asleep in chance.
to stare at her
for hours
while her shadow begins
to curl like trunks of smoke
on the wooden floor
to escape the heavy
brief pale
gaze of
strangers
to be close to her
as close tangled
irreversible
as hours are to years
to hear her voice
like the hieroglyph
of a flower
carved into the
speech of rocks
to touch her eyes
when the walls of the world
become calm timorous
mirrors
to face each other
and collide like antonyms
in the swelling unity
of love
then I found myself
stepping on the mushy
nodes of matter
first cobblestones
then grass
finally the helical
steps of a cloud
it was no longer
vague intuition
but pure palpable
fact :
this is a dream
the arc of night
laid its arm
round my shoulder
both my eyes
puckered
to buss the black sky
there was love
dark and murmuring
my heart drunk
on the delirious flavor
of the stars
the straws of space
nested my body
and fell asleep
while the cars below
flashed in gushing fleets
Beyond Language 
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