smoke touches brain
neurosis and all
have you seen it curl
like neurons thinking of clouds –
yes clouds are always in my mind
life is so barren of poetry
that the only word
that saves me is
CLOUD
a single
puff of shredded tobacco
cold in the lungs
a wild uproar of vapor
in the skyline of
awareness
abrupt
racing uphill
heart pumping
squirting out shells
and crusts
and monolithic diagrams
my breath is silver lining
in the outer whorl of moonlight
corridors immense
goddess growing in brain
sloughing the filament of skull
my face in hunt of tobacco
screaming, drawing out
like echoes of painful throbbing
motion for the race for the desperation
for the sharp pendulum
hovering over my neck
my traitor heart where is the end
to all this blood
carrying deadly time
in its rage
music
is my only
faith
not a long woven
orchestration –
just a note
sown
in the wet
fertile
earth of the
mind
an only sprout
and nothing else.
I became an observer
a type of man within the man
not in the act
rather somewhere between
the meaning and the purpose,
I see him from abroad
I am always in another land,
he often follows a plan
making haste and waste
of the hours
I don’t talk to him
he’s too busy feeling down
or doing the dishes,
I let him run
the government of duty
I see his fortress of pain
from my tiny exile
I have visions,
seeing him old
brittle like flakes of rust,
confounded
not sure of what’s to come;
I pretend
to be dreaming
and nothing more
that man
is my only friend
like a good old book
I peruse in my
wayfaring days
like a star
in the night sky
that’s been dead
for years
There was only a narrow slit
left between these eyes,
to survive and nowhere else?
the prospect was a sort of madness
somewhere in that peninsular solitude
my lands would become addicted to dreams
with half-shut eyes, looking out
attempting
as vaguely as objects are
or the motes of continuance;
these visions were freed as wealth
in sinister currency,
the mind is sleep
these eyes drugs
hello
expanding monuments
with the last man
sober in your
granite
resembling
an arching
thick empty
emptiness
my mistake was
to make a philosophy
out of the gurgling sound
when hope
sank to the bottom
of the pond
I invested too much in clouds
they can hardly break
the rapid fall of my words
as they crash into
solid stupidity
I have to return
to the meaning
of stone
I have to tip over
my dreams
as boulders on summits
that wreck
below
could hurt like
a sudden
birth.
I saw a sun today
it was like a specter
belonging to unsolvable fiction,
it had a wide abyss
as a mouth
made of the purest light;
the naked trees
as deadly as knives
daggers defending the earth
from the intrusion of the sky,
it was worship
in the eyes, veiled by sight, bathed in perception,
drenched in mind;
it was like my whole life
was meant to be scorched
by this sun
and I would fail at everything
hereafter
except this rhapsody of
surrender.
finality
run by a strength
gathering in every bouquet of fire
that my lungs take in
in the crushed earth of my heart
with the noisy smoke of the blood
running stronger still
digesting the night as the sweetest charcoal
drunk with fire, hot demise
swimming in the lurid steam of desire
making love under the encroaching moon of suffering
the hand sloughing the disease of touch
the temptation to feel,
my goodness,
the strength that has gathered
spewing boulders as wild bullets of despair
impossible to even begin telling
about the layers and the failed anchors,
such force
is a miracle of the body
an outcome of the rocks and veins
a mistake of the mind;
finally
nothing can be revoked
.
I walked alone b/c
the streets were attempting
to be white
I’m all sorts of blues
so what a contrast that was,
when I found the open boulevard
imitating a mouth or lights
exactly like my sparkling daze-hood,
the shadows were falling everywhere
like broken pieces of love,
I could hear cars, reminding me
that I’m nothing but a drive;
I was hoping for a journey but found
myself crushing little roads of silence
blinking sadly,
remonstrating:
am i the only poet out here
tonight?
by then
i had crossed
the reason
language was tender
naive and insipid
i was beginning to write
verse
with motion
perspective
a salving madness
i began asking
for the drop
to steal
heaven
a spark in the horizon
a mission
a long-drawn laughter
after the joke of life
had been exposed
it was with all the things
we came to know
that i crossed
the sadness
at last
alone
by the emptiness
of the road.
Beyond Language 
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