february 2019


...my womb is a place of clouds

of worry-beads, of charms

a place for the poet’s transient blood

and even this passage to the underworld, my throat

has now become a home for giants

for monolithic verses that dare not stumble

as language slides to a halt

and silence becomes the one innovation

that truly outstrips creation

this decisive love, this place

this troublesome, dark birth

of a world that prefers

to quietly eviscerate its poets

and yet no womb is monolithic

no charm unlocks the underworld

there is no verse still so potent

it can devour the mind

there are just these indiscriminate clouds

silently rising from the ground

the aftermath of omnipotence...





...this page is an exit, a bridge, a crossing

and beyond is the land of the no-man’s soul

where music surges into the unknown

and each day a goddess rises with thunderbolts

assassinating the rich

in fact anyone who tries to bastardise sincerity

this transit, this fire in Aurora’s genome

that locks eternity to the bloodstream

thus finally wiping the earth of all deceit

this terrifying extradition of every man, woman and child

straight into the arms of the redeemer

this long overdue clearance

this precipice called pleasure

a discussion, a dialogue with mirrors

with crowds dressing themselves in stones

and yet every morning the faithful goddess rises

offering unlimited knowledge

as the only reason for which there is reason

but the world, the world stands mute

alone in a doorway

alone on a bridge...