Thursday, December 21, 2006

It was some combination of her voice, her face, her thin gray cotton leggings, a glance across the greenish haze, that kiss of every breath at once. A dream within a dream so strange but carefully precise, so perfect. So lost within myself but lucid with the suspense of her lips and the soft electric glow of her small hands. She touches me and I remind myself that the dream is real because it is persistent. It becomes clear to me that compassion is the only rational direction in this noetic loop, where life becomes an image of itself an infinitude of times over.

Carolyn

And talking about what God looked like to ourselves, how She must be beautiful but without face or name but human and familiar. And how we saw Her in the womb and even now in shapeless flesh of Christmas tree and windowing. Church-born entryways enshadowed by the walk or dreamt and surely more dreamt than memorized of that emblazened silhouette we saw carved out and stoned.

Ninth

The catalyst of our dispassioned youth. The first domino to fall toward our complete disillusion.. The shell torn open, our lives exposed for the meaningless random walks they were. Everything since a Brownian soup of reaction and reflection, ascendent levels of hyperbole become a grotesque purity of awareness, a detached vision of the entirely vapid struggle of daily life, the conflation of beauty and truth, joy and greed, happiness, naivete and ignorance.
As we further heed the churnings of our inner self the world is doomed to steep in blood and shit. Dissolve the self lest we look back again on what we childishly destroyed.

heat

the cold dark end
is never dark enough
the farthest depth
too close
throw away the thought

you will never wait enough
for every
dim light
to disappear
and wrapped in all your
nascent moments
bound in
pitch fluorescent
black
the
humming wash of space

leave me unperceived
on your sweet shadow
sun end eye
your heart
goodbyeing

the tomb of light
a birthplace
for the soul

The Torment of Existence Weighed Against The Horror of Non-being

On that night I saw the thought most clearly.
Sharp beneath the shadowed sky.
Death of all immerged deception.
Asleep behind a trail of light, sound in rippled air.

Awoken in that sound of shameless motion.
Sunpierced flashing daggers breathing space.
Drown, damn you, face this muted earth, condense and disappear!

I saw so clearly warmed this gasping for the reborn light become of sound compressed to silence. In that sunset dawn so becoming of new light swept into dark.

Thought so softened into powder, lead to dust.
Composition compost.
Melted strife.

Where an end to an end would fit so snugly.
Sweet blanketed dissolve.

And in each further moment,
waning numbness, molt, cocooned inception,
sleep.

no honey

but what about your brain?
no honey
right here
that's where you are
right here
your hand above your heart
no matter what
happens or what
they do to you or
say
right here
you are alive
and born as new as each
young sun above the sea
asleep
within you