august 2020



...this is an odyssey to those vast faces

those bodies of monumental glass

the black, obsidian giants

whose androgynous beauty

towers over all existence

it is this that can be heard breathing in the night

this dark neutrality

which can be felt

permeating the mind

with these layers

these few millimetres

that move the universe to tears

it is something which feigns to exist

playing instead the blind itinerant

tapping from cell to cell

these solid faces of glass

such measureless silence

such self-seeming layers

frontiers that glow as they dream

that exist only because they dream...




                        (ii) these moons sit within my heart

surveying the brightness of their own blood

the past finally declares victory

and sucks out my eyes

leaving the sparrows to peck at the anecdotes

still stuck between my teeth

and although I do not understand

what these raw stones and meat

are doing inside my mouth

I sense it is some locus of the universe

some sightless pulse

caged beneath my skull

like birds, like memories

a self-inflicted dust

its great axioms subsuming slowly

back into the molten earth

so is this hissing in my ears

just the past oozing into the sea

taking my eyes as trophies

or is it something else unforeseen...




...and so the aphorisms go on and on

falling apart

page after page of queasy verse

playing at truth

feigning humility, yet with an ego

that still claims ownership of itself

an intravenous line

of verbs fed into a vein

of minerals that bleed aloud

of languages dripping from a bag

the cry of dimensionless sonnets

their shadows grasping

reaching out through the bars

at those who pass-on-by

still playing at truth

such intravenous humility

such hyphenated eyes

that still claim to see themselves as themselves

and the world as the world

and no more...