I found
the shadow
carpeted with
ache
I couldn’t
leave the
island of my
skin
unable
to break and free
as a sky without
zenith, I sunk
into a low and
blue tear
then morning hung
as the erotic
fluvial voice
this mouth is a gash
that never heals
thrusting verbs as blood
in the bloating thought
I look down
to find my shape
covered in otherness
I was there
alloyed WITH
the world
like
the élan and heart
together
in immeasurable desire.
Morning
wild tai-chi circles
hunch and then roar
two eyes open in dawn
red melancholy –
the only earth
for the heart
vermilion sun
to shine on the memory
sudden within a rock
four petals of essence
anywhere
a moth joins the horizon
curtains of light
from punctured clouds
in the expanse of sand
only one stone is fully awake
many have gathered
in syrups of time
anything could happen
while my youth is
still dying for black illusions
four hints of essence
somewhere
white sorrow
resting as sweetly
as snow
on the solitary fields
of my thought
the beautiful
wrinkled chaos
that left a scar
on the softer skin
of a black revolving rose
I hear
the world celebrate
another hour
another drop of time
another innocent tick of the clock
their voices unite in aggressive shapes
of extreme joy
another noon
another fulcrum
their austere clasped hands
held high in new directions
upon a crescent
rising towards a vanishing point
another compound
another openness
sirens wail in the open street
the cavalry proceeds in metal consonant
another descent of the moon
another compendium of light and shadow
I hear the world
positively amidst the churning voids
proceeding full of gaiety and culture
another pyramid
another stretch
I hear them
almost transcending the bronze
of the horizon
another century
another column toward infinite
their bones are statues with slanting
shadows
I hear the world
celebrate the happiness of the arc
another navel
another marble testament
a world without king
I hear the wind intersect
the hollow texture of the dream
I hear them
unified in tempo
against nothing at all.
Anything can happen
rocks can fall off your bed
and smash the little structure of happiness
we had on the floor
the lamp can explode
into milliard moths
that fly into a whole neurosis
the moon can leap into your soup
drowning behind an outshining pea
anything
like biting off the nails of your assumptions
until hitting the hard red pain of delusion
you can even lose your marbles
drop them along the way
because you run after
the bigger tumbleweed of truth
anything can happen
when the world is an empty
chord reflected
from the wings
of a sleeping
butterfly.
We are table
glass on the table
glass ejaculating shadow
on the table
and light on the table
light that rises like smoke
from the table
smoke leaving the cigarette butt
that had died on the table
mist ascending from the table
to the light bulb
reaching the spark
that illumined the table
the judgment
the judgment upon table
we are all but the table
the lonely wisp of nothingness
that our table bears
like skin and vein
that remain on the table
we are this
cold and narrow
edge of table.
purl –
all being
swollen
in niches .
scattered salt
on the bare table
as solitudes of rock
an image of a cloud
like an errant soul .
red paint –
the smell of transmutation
a simple
color serving as garment
for the brief
invisible visit
of purpose.
What collocation of beginnings
side by side in the sky
looking through window
at a fiery gas and ox flame
woven in lurid clouds,
the unit of beginning
3 seconds of origin
awoken in the mist –
then return to the tunnel
of thought, drug and routine
as a dark spiral without
exit.
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.
There were so many things
left to do
the city had abrupt faces, ideals
our hands were eager with schemes
so full of intent and consequence
the flavors we would discover
some of the poetry entailed
but our hands were sealed
collapsing monuments on the bed
our bodies were already heavy
with the black of time,
we decided to end our lives
as naturally as a flow of music
our destiny was a quiet ending
alone in that dualism of self and terror
we would begin to fall
now sleeping towards
the arms of a nestling hiatus,
we began our descent
down the throat of nullity
certain that this abandoned world
was only a first dream
and that reality was fully awake
at the dawning clouds of death.
I have chosen an exit
my finger is already in the sky
drawing up the clouds
they are dead with time
my music is blood running wild
I transient leap back and forth
the speed of pregnant vision
why is now a candied sound in my mouth
dissolving as a tongue of vapor
I laughed and cried
the tears come from above
they will plunge hard into the soil
of my mad domain.
Beyond Language 
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