I have the world
like pulp
inside my fist.
The juice that drips
like concentrates
of dream.
Wait!
I refuse to describe you.
World you are in my grasp,
but I refuse to recite your
casual contents.
I have eloped with silence,
my petty pet.
poetry of silence
new lands
There are things
best left unsaid
lest the great sphinx
of the open mystery
laughs
at my foolishness
she knows
ultimately, life
is like the open sky
and words
are clouds I hold on to
to break my
fall.
Beyond Language 