here
in this stone
not one two sounds
rain neither in the air
or light giving echo in its shores
here
was quiet
and very slow
in this blue-ceiling stone
there was no yesterday it was beautiful
without clothes and open nudity
dripping between the legs
of day and night of glass
without stars or questions
all transparent
without language
asleep with names
like shadows in the
shell here of time.
(a translation of http://nihilisticpoetry.com/2013/09/29/aqui-del-tiempo/)
Sorry,
I can’t tell you here
what value, how important,
where everlasting.
Haven’t found it, every bit
is rising like a moon
no matter if it’s a thing
or a thought it disappears
somewhere.
I feel human, literally
a heart pumping veins
in rings of muscle. And
also empty space between
all of you and this isolation of brain,
language, dark brown eyes,
I let you walk pass me
passersby. If I touch
you by chance by accident by love by desire
by dinnertime by church by antiquity by destiny
by skin by Friday by crying by leaving
it will be my memory moaning for
togetherness again with the ebb and flow
of zeroes echoing in the silence.
I do not claim
my isolation is unique,
my brain bottled in language
looking out into the world
through dark brown eyes.
But I cannot touch you
when you are a tricklebird
dripping from the skyline.
Sorry,
our days are numbered and
we must face the tough blue earth
as if it were the end–
enswathe me
with the leaf
of another name
if a violet flower
quivers like ornament
on the ephemeral rawness
of this earth
so a tiny poet
cleaves like thistledown
to the thin vastness
of the word
if it was genuine
my standing by the pond
weighing the quantity of universe
in these thoughts
if it was certitude
that clung as cascade
to the branches
of renewing blood
upon exiting the flesh
I thought unto death
to look back toward
this pallid clarity of ash
this has been important to me
to fling final words as anchor
in the hidden plethoric ;
time as billowing toward
some lambent exit
without us,
this alone is clear
all these residual things
will remain
spilled in darkness.
I have never tasted the world.
With skin, I cannot live as a man
in a city simulation.
Before it rains the landscape
sober despite action.
I did not walk across
the surface of awareness
. Pure angst that it is.
Imagine happiness like held thunder.
When something is new
its artificial language displaces the
characteristics of the innovation.
But I’ve prayed for the earth
to dissolve as a drug on
my tongue. And extend
a bridge between truth
and this movement.
The blood stands in the way
like a mural of total redness.
I’ve never tasted the world.
With this skin that can only mirror susurrations.
I placed in my mouth
a wordless lump of dream
[ ]
and earth was clean
for a while
with little-souls
gliding-without
the-weight-of-shadows
hours deep in music
while opinion was
a remote latitude
and the future had no
literature or comets
and the ebb of morning
was an impossible mutation
of white and sound,
I had been masticating
this wordless lump of
dream
{ }
and faces had meadows
with rich fogs
cutting the edge
of smiles and drifting
through silver breezes
and the earth
was clean
for a while.
Having crossed the street
leaving behind vapor or vastness
the bulb shines on the pavement
a flat spangled instant
this road to a friend
my friend
whose skin of earth
tightens a delta by the edge of an eye
I see the determination of a tear
gliding by the cheek ,
so early a thought
before it becomes fire,
before the verb
flees as storm.
I remember everything in silence,
like flashes of a dance
inside the cave of shadows.
My friend whose skin of earth
coalesced into the Nile’s delta
we saw the tear fall to earth
like one imperfect meaning
falling into silence.
here is earth
all earth dreaming
this sliver of earth
this earth of maze
a rueful path on earth
all earth divine
hard as cock
as breasts voluptuous
this earth of sex
and dream and pain
here is earth
all earth excelling
in voice and void
this earth like
body drunk
with melody
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.
Now that the entire world
has retreated to a thaw
now that from a rooftop
I see a raw galaxy dangling
from the beak of a bird
now that the earth
is a great rippling mantle
like a set of loose hair in a golden head
now that the entire world
as soft and pliable as moist leaf of tobacco
now that the planet is flotsam
drifting in the viscous current of sensation
now
we can sleep
in its academy of colors
now
we immerse our heads
in the surrounding cradling
dream
Our current knowledge
will be clear
to be no more
than a droplet
within an immeasurable
ocean of unknowingness –
we pretend on this earth
to know more than we
know not
we dispel mystery
because we have
a few theories
and laws of Nature
as a poet I seek
that vaster sphere
of Nature Unknown
I do not call it
divine
but because of its
opulent mystery,
I deem it
sacred.
Beyond Language 
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