peeling off the whiteness
of stream
of consciousness
washing it
with the sterile lore
of silence
preserving its restlessness
in the hermetic jar
of time
feeding it the shadow
of leaves
the crumbs of wind
that I find
warming it
with the thick songs
of essence
talking to it
with the vowels
of night and day
loving it
despite
the shapeless ache
it leaves in my
heart
A moments
core wandering
many hands invented
touching me – us
moment + the inner uncertainty
touched by silhouettes
possibly a mother
whose age is light and clarity
in a moment
the thought of progress dies
a face remembers the rock
of the bone
a circle around the things
we know
beyond it
the heart of the things
we cannot love.
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.
Half
the sky
in my laugh
shattered
into myriad
flakes
of clustering
snow
the white
concentrations
like palpitations
of the cloud
coming from
a vaguely symphonic
summit
where they touch
and perish
my drops
of comic
hours
I am a cosmic
view
behind the windows
longing
the cold
touch of something
external
an octave
higher
to rest
in a mute
miracle
in the lapse
of that
quietude
vibrating
in stillness
in a chord -
the infant
history
of
ecstasy
I changed sides
of the road
walking
perhaps
to some ultimate
destination
I was wrong
it was only
another sidewalk
I had been
doing nothing
staring at letters
in books
without
knowing their meaning
the coffee got cold
I go for walks
when I get tired
of sitting.
I’d like to say
this is all true
but I only have
noise and vague memory
I have no idea
what I did
today.
NIHILISTIC Poetry
I cannot wait
to be in your teeth
ripped apart
in black disguise
by your plotted fangs
and crushing grand schemes
I can’t wait
to be flotsam
that nobody finds
in your sea of control
rotten planks
sinking into an insignificant
quiet disappearance
I cannot wait
a minute longer
to be fake rice
in your fields of expansion
never becoming
more than a spot
of white nothingness
amidst your supreme
everything .
A day’s surface
its skin of smoke
ASTRAY
The world escapes
flickering like
a stream of thought
A glaring red instant
Remains
as the incomprehensible
dream of
e
m
p
t
i
n
e
s
s
.
What I employ
is not language
but the vivid shade
of movement and instinct
I have to be asleep
murmuring like a wide surface
of sea froth
twilight before the birth of pain;
my eyes expiring like new moons
in the obscure tingling of selfhood
only then
in that reflection
the hairs of the galaxies
sway like dark music,
the pupils expand
in one big womb of memory;
I remember
the place where the soul
used to be.
There
by the brook of your stare
I meet the sound
of your drowning,
‘alas’ so light and lasting
a word surfacing like sighs from your eyes
I make room and stand back
so you run into the invisible
curl of a mistake,
my child you’ve begotten
sadness and its truth
is more distance than those streaming
glares that leap from walls to illusions –
there
I recognize our mutual meaning
nowhere in this fog
the outline of solution
nor the source of our misery.
