and the emptiness of

poetry of despair 2013

A weak wind
being bent as silent structure
on the margin of the hours
by the beach
a walk through the empire of rock

after death

love sits
with legs cold
and the storm of the sand

every crash
is wrath
looped in symbol

of being alone
with others
older in the corner
of mosaic

mystery is a heavy mist
pounded on our eyes

love sits
with cold legs
and the emptiness of the sand

those fingers
to carve in the skin of this earth
the folded name;

the forgotten
labyrinth of him.

Contemporary Poetry

Tripartite

postmodern_poem_2013

Hello.
Anybody here?
Heylooo?

A priest
and a prostitute
enter a bar.

They come up to the counter.
The bartender: what canna getcha?

The hooker smiles,
same as yesterday, Sam.

The priest, swollen
and sweating smiles,
I’ll have a dark century, Sam.

The clouds moved through
my notebook, anxious
as snails along rugged time.

Someone?
Anybody?

The prostitute shows
the sweetness of her blackberry nipples.
$15 a boob job.

Alfred white as a number says, OK.

I drew a whole city in my notebook
and
in one corner
I built a home
yellow with a mountain of beauty
inside the living room.

Knock, knock.

Alfred was gratified, the stars
trembling in his dark glassy pupils.

That’s $15, she said.

Half the pages are torn out,
theoretical mistakes I say;
but the bulk of my notebook
has black markings

like the shadows of birds
in a mile of snow.

Contemporary Poetry

Miserere mei, Deus

poetry_of_solitude

You sit
by the bus stop
and study the event
it’s a place
where you’ve cycled
innumerably     a place
where you sit
and watch the light
dissolve in the liquid
of your eye
you’re there because
you don’t know where to be
you’re there because
you’d like to witness
the event
and you see things happening
once and units of behavior
he was speaking to me
through a cloud of thought
through a wind of misery
through a vapor of memory
through a rain of laughter
he was another
man far away from everything
another or other man
another star failing in the dark
another strand of conscious throe
a man from denmark
in the glow of streetlight
toasting and talking spanish
transmitting his monad of sadness
and everything being faraway
like a flash above
our private picture of
solitude.

21st century Poetry

 

the origin of birth

poetry_of_origin

 

If you tell a kid
that can’t remember being born,
you were born of your mother,
from your father’s seed
you come from a line of lovers
that started way back
before the instrument of love
when there was only form
forming flux and
the structure of diamonds
everywhere protruding
from the mystery
of dark pulsation.

 

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

sugar of lung

suffer

I’ve translated the sugar
of lung and by mist
the meaning of language
is a family of pauses
appearances that crawl
like incense between crevices
of hard barrier,
but then there is truth
which as a fence
we jump to land
on barbarous scenes of fading,
where we hang the moon
in our hollow cavity
and there walk in thick groups
of solitary breaths,
aiming to cut the tragedy
in two great halves
with the rim of suffer.

Contemporary Poetry

allness

allness

Here in my face
I feel gravity
when light and darkness
are only found in
two eyes that brush
with memory the
portrait of movement

what am I to do
when language’s gone
astray
smashing against
a window like a dumb
bird

we discovered
that the only thing
in heaven are rocks
and columns of gas
that the soul is
an inaudible whisper
returning to nameless,
to a wind to a wave

little man, I hear the elements say:
logic swallowed the world
and reason spat out an abstraction
so, little man, let’s start over
with a new skin around language
caressing the river of change
as only the surface of infinite

dip before death your body
in emptiness
O manifold, never compare
abandon the mistake of identifying
body with body and mind with mind
rather cling to miracle as petals
do to their perfume
and drop judgment like a stone
thru the air and little man
open the mouth the eye and your
bouquet of fingers in the madness
that moves worlds as auras
around the light of stars

fast, construct a minute that is
young fountain and invent a word
that will finally deflower infinity

little man – I hear a voice from all
elements strangling me with all
greenness that is a red orchestra
conducting as a blue cloud
the dance of the night around itself
allness allness

I have a face and it is a seed
at the threshold about to cleave root
in the manifestation of music
so profound
that it enters an orbit
around the love of everything

Contemporary Poetry