this raw piece of paper
in this nostalgia
I place existence
entirely as a dream
as the fragile body of
a newborn
reposing on the page
it is unique and vast
like plain confession of passion
this piece of paper is all
I have this very moment
a solitude of twilight
in the horizon manifest pain
I touch life
and the memory of it
escapes
like the smoke
of this flaming
piece of paper. . .
The throat is the key
long gullet of hope
rebel stomach for rage
my intestines atop destruction
they are the spies
of lies
the accomplices
of alcohol
suicide is salvation
in this state
the answer
is blue sky
empty of
heaven –
the true
mask
who do we kill?
always the last note
sour and eager
futile mote
of dust
and love
finally
an instant
before
I collapse.
The face was carved out
Of sound and motion
Vision was clay of river
Through ages and lives
His face was the platform
Of transforming secret –
I was a full body of beer
Reeking smell of hallucination
The concept of man
Was the rustling leaf beyond the window?
My friend and I
Seeping into the occult layers of perception
Like rats of laughter we followed the maze
Unabashed by the terrible condition
The flaky reality we were inventing
At 6am of a holiday retreat
As automaton, as passion
The nude words of the intoxicated
As free bullets
Hunting the lie
Of the self.
My madness began at seven
Beautiful ineluctable madness
The sun was over the horizon
In wide strokes of light
Painting my ribs: the trees
The fields were windows
Clear lucid germ of becoming
My skin was everywhere
Like an atmosphere of beams
My song was the sadness
The pain
The burden
The guilt
In that bath of purity
My mouth was full
Swelling with
The verb of awe
While the fragment is our fruit
the mild mind of the cloud
in the fields, the influence of greens
encapsulated by vast sense of earth,
all intermediary fog
my retreat
into the silent bowl
of the countryside.
The rain has made
senseless x’s on the pane
beyond it
the turbulent clouds
initiate the horror
and a short trance,
my madness
no symbol
is free
to speak of mundane
matters
is now unacceptable
the world
useless as thing
but the most terrible
warning
an opening in the clouds
supine
on the ground
a yellow blindness
through eyes surrendering
I sense
blood fencing the sky
inside
an egg
of impatient
globular substance
a sufferer’s music.
the sensation of knowing
has faded
the congealing cement
our last coverture
ugly, reeking
and already alone
with a bullet of important birth
have the notes in the eyes
a melody of face and terror
the philosophers
have turned to the poetic
in depiction
the overt sorrow
of crocodile skins
this task of surveying
bland vast infinite
words not even mountains
to rest the moon
on their slopes
death and terror
sustained by repetitious
creation, a blind fountain
speaking for the absence
I
supplant
meaning
to extinguish
consolation
representation having failed
we rely on the cruel instant
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
if
some
fundamental
level
of reality
the blurry steps
of the passage of time
limbs moving, solitary breath
dying streams of flesh
darkness with short
explosions of light
everything is metamorphosis
formlessly attached
to the mind
the visible is unexplored
nobody sees the becoming
was
the world
collapsing
into my soul?
the greatest adventure
to have all the
planets in view
to be a leaf
and die like a
son
I gasped
and was
a child
so it is a lost
saddened
reality
who made it?
I was breathlessly
spellbound
the name of it
is there
but the maker
is long dead
to be drunk
awake
with the uninhabited
world below my knees
the eager moon
hungry for my course
I designate the sadness
at the street
death
the watch has said
death
tea
is in my mouth
morbid
florid pain
I’m watching
and nothing
effortlessly
febrile
useless personality
I am nothing more
silver meaning
rotten sound
kill me sage
here
A wild band of maniacs
command me
I am hostage
given the liberty
to think
but not to feel
they feed me futures
the bones of tasks
I am hunted
with a shield of invisible ideas
I am naked to the truth
hurting by the clouded horizon
I poeticize my hypocrisy
I am of thieves
after masks I’d like to kiss
I’m heading towards madness
together with my wild pack of beasts
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.
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