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!
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
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
light
breathable
settling in ever
heavier expanses
like millions of years of glaciers
shifting the crude element of skin
a ray in the spiral of a silent mood
fling the head like a child
oblivious of sight
of experience zooming out the pond into the sky
rocking up and down like a bird placing the sun
as an echo on the miraculous tree
away from the blue waters an afterimage
in the mouth of a fish
suspended
like minor fruit
in this vein of flight
glimpse
into the organs of thought
the measure and intelligence of an irrational kiss
repose
like a cluster of grapes
leaning their shadow
on anything but a memory.
it is in that last
place
where life is surrendered
and in one flicker
we must die
absolutely
forgiving
beauty
for having existed
and now
been taken away
in one last
absurd breath
every moment
revolves around
that final moment
and if there is any meaning
it is this
the immeasurably short present
being swallowed by nothingness
all details
consumed and
blurred
it is this
single and
isolated tick
of time
where we live
and
unendingly
shiver.
how could I begin
when the earth below
me
clusters in great furrows
of graphic skin
its glimmer trapped
in pockets of wrinkles
with the open slit
of red dawn
the opening lips
of a raw horizon
with my imaginary blood
in its arc,
‘ how ’
in this awry mirror
to begin
and inevitably
to end ?
I imagine a day
when young rose vowels
uttered from my mouth
brimming with the perfume of laughter
that joyous I’d be
still full of falsehood
but arms around strange folk
like they’d be the secret
truth of the age, we’d sing
and sit like tired twigs
leaning on the inside of a whirlpool whose
destination does not amount to too much
but neither does the apprehension of it
so that day comes
my pen on the edge of the table
my pipe curling arrows of smoke
but truly my eyes fixed on
clouds with no purpose
From the phantom tables
and vanished walls
a cloud of light
and thunder of shadow
the foundation is lost .
I still glimpse an inkling of
cold geometry and
wooden truth;
but the glue of substance
drips like echoes of brevity. . .
I witness
and no longer
participate.
The sadness of the suit –
hung
the window shop
like a memory
carrying the scent
of an effete cosmos,
the wrinkles engraved
as snakes on a dead desert
of polyester,
the trapezoids existing
shadows in the skin
of the pattern,
and the sadness of the suit
saturated with the rust
of a regret, the shoes
of temple sacrifice-
the suit gray and occidental
ail and sober
standing brave
as the soldier of ruin.
the horizon swells with rawness
a white cumulous beehive,
my thoughts circle the distance
like black heavy flies,
the hairs of time
stroking my mind
like the drunken summer of an engine;
the horizon swells with pink oil
all the trees are horses
with green galloping flowers as their
heads,
my joy is the shy protruding
obnubilation
frozen in the sky like a gray cusp of moon
–
I am the city
with the touch as long as the empty
avenues;
my eyes strange
as the streetlight’s gloom.
Beyond Language 
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