within the
last moment
when you lift
existence
as a weightless
fish in your hands
when the road
becomes your tail
shivering
as the endless
echo of the earth
when nothing else
shall come
and the eyes dance
as flies in the darkest air
within the last
pause of perception
when
the blood becomes
still as the shadow
on the ground;
a white butterfly
leaves your mouth
to be carried away
by the gale of
silence
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.
unable to wake
I remained
behind the ruin of a memory
a Chinese serpent
swerving in the currents
of my dormant eyelids
nothingness was a province
where an obsidian pyramid
stood against a starless night
there in bed
roving like a raving raven
within the
delicate depths of darkness
surrounded by
a deep moat –
the dark waters
of space
swallowing any ray of light
that may cross over
to my dispossessed eyes
lone
existing alone
light as perishable infancy;
heavy as a bridge above years
a statue
untying itself
from its surface
of imitation
so I squandered the imported
bullion of dreams
and with quivering fascination
became empty and
bankrupt
of image
unable to wake
I surrendered
like
a history
written on the soft
tissue of the spirit –
never to be
read.
I will sleep tonight
cargoless
adding only to my lightness
the thickening trickle of a trance
to behold the failing world
cradled by darkness
such is my noiseless faith
to whom belongs today
when it is already recollection
the eyes drown in intimate vastness
the ears dip into soft limbo
the earth and its history
recede and disappear
as does the voice
that defined them.
Visualize
the first act
of violence
that gave meaning
to the word
‘violence’
the first dog
that symbolized the
genus of all dogs –
the moment
when abstract
was no longer
a word
but the whole history
of the world
Imagine
the timeless
before we gave
it a name
or happiness
before it
became a goal
or truth
when consciousness
was still ineffable
and nesting
Suppose
meaning
was the hardest
bone
and eternity
a living
cloud
Conceive
matter as the
drying spirit
or spirit
as the sleep
of atoms
Assume
if only once
that essence
is the entire
instant of life –
and death
is the entire
essence of poetry.
Brush.
Faceless driver.
I keep replaying,
the violent curve –
my unlighted bicycle.
Pump ; drugged with
adrenaline…
bone crack pain coward
agonize no thoughts. I keep
replaying the scene,
the simple magnet of events.
I keep coloring the blood
against the asphalt,
drawing the feeling of crushed bone.
No thoughts and my eyes
on charcoal night.
To have died, doesn’t
seem so tragic now.
Death – finally!
Under the numinous
full moon!
I’m the old
arrogant librarian
lost at sea
haven’t read a book
in seven years
since led astray
in the salty scales
of the sea,
carrying within
the eroded
treasures of antiquity
reciting to myself
Ovid and Schopenhauer
speaking, even
to the fish
like St. Anthony
about duality
and the necessity
of death
sometimes standing on
my plank
transient and ancient
while the spinal cord
of the horizon
contorts
like a living snake –
I’m certain
that I’ll salvage
the nectar of wisdom
it will redeem my sorrows
by sweeting the saline ocean
of my despair;
one day
when scorched
like an upright
brazen sword in
the surrounded waste
one day
I will let go
a single drop
of symphony
to drown in this
stubborn paradise
one day
surrendering the last
epiphany of my breath
I’ll teach humanity
that nothing
really matters.
The
light arose
as foliage
bouquets of tender dawns
resting my head
on your breasts – hard as clouds
half asleep
chasing empty horizons
for the only flower
that droops its stem
to face the total stillness
of a silent earth.
of all the wonders
of the world
to marvel at
I stand staggering
drunk
looking at my own
dangling ogre
itself staring down
a white well
shooting a yellow tongue
furthermore
a spiral of energy
swallowing
its urgent kiss
till I stand empty
of purpose
and Heraclitus’
bare truth
before my
dripping sex.
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
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