1
Scene the past life forever
and now beneath earth holding
all it is fallen folding
and displaced.
Now indolent now frantic
now setting herself ablaze
from a great depth of feeling
inaction.
Long thought giving evidence
on slow sense of true body
cooling breeze on sweated skin
no longer.
Too worded and too finished
bloodless she thinks touching full
the vein rivering between
her knuckles.
Skin again a beginning
again with pulse a push strike
stillness gathers up to this
the action.
Catalog the residue
the ash and sap smeared alike
and the sound of it the end
the one end.
Light is world enough for the
child and hand and sight and skin
the noise up from the street is
world enough.
The one end common and ash
yourself what is the way now
and now the way is obscure
mind inks it.
Dark with darkness and other
the thought arrives that eye is
simply location for light’s
arrival.
He knows and knows the grasping
hot pull of want and that it
pulls toward nothing that it
will not rest.
Wholly within this the one
and spread out against the sky
so that the birds fly through it
longing mind.
Mind’s action relentless first
taking away and then the
drying gut stretching snaps back
and rest then.
2
The other of other the
infinitive self fragments
patch of dead skin beneath the
blue-green eye.
She moves as a moving thing
there and carries it with her
the disguise of the not known
not knowing.
Her back as she walks away
is all of the child’s anguish
his home is in that the shape
then and now.
Warm bloom the double warm bloom
set to aching in her side
and in her vertigo now
agliding.
The destruction of substance
is one mind in one folding
oneself in compound pressing
no signal.
On horseback in memory
and sunlight and air moving
the true depth of the moment
to trust still.
The question of love is not
your question so answer this
the question that is given
to you now.
Given the time to see through
to one point eternally
that one point that cannot be
given you.
Given the past of landscape
and mind and the set of mind
against it take the sight to
from your you.
Light from the leaf through window
from the burning to the burnt
through thought and air and liquid
through the spine.
Unclenching uncaused mind through
grass and bathed to air on skin
and scent to the sensing thing
entering.
Back to front and watching is
the watching that there is no
nothing that should not happen
not a word.
3
So much beauty that cannot
be seen or felt or taken
there as there and unmet by
this lead mind.
As though eye saw for eye and
skin touched only for itself
and the light bent just this way
for nothing.
By the time the rain stops the
story will be true we will
be true incomplete we will
all be dead.
Rounded squared and bellowing
the light and bellowing the
plastic wall plumping wordless
round zero.
Circled wordlessness that is
not working here that is not
following the fullest say
circle one.
Thoughts a halo of thoughts not
words or yet words or who knows
not what the customary
frequency.
Bird call a scratched record end
variation perhaps not
as though not there at all now
for the ear.
Out of the hand again it
knows time and cries through forms for
the point flown and the pattern
flown to it.
When a fish leaves the water
the world liberated from
breath and sun light is but an
accomplice.
The empty to emptiness
knows that it doesn’t matter
that it is the only thing
that matters.
Too close the tiny speck the
vitreous detached from all
reason and floating casting
silently.
What holds you in your hatred
and what leaves it here gone are
not empty but emptiness
in your hand.
4
The night cry of the plover
and its meaning have carried
across you and stick here now
without you.
The amplification of
absence empty clear moonlit
and most intimate to your
stricken then.
There is not a self only
actualization there
is only the absence of
the night cry.
If you have no clarity
she will take it away to
pressing oneself trusting the
path still still.
Shucked the old skin turned and faced
the surface of a great depth
that has no use for thinking
nor for her.
Not her bloom as the scene of
redemptive beauty is not
her redemption but just things
as it is.
Our shared disharmony is
our shared self but what is the
end of an explanation
like a self?
A child plays with stems of grass
lit and lighting on the side
of an ancient hill in an
ancient way.
No-self not selfing and not
fully illuminated
but fully evident of
harmony.
He asks what is the word for
the failure of words and finds
his mind left to some quiet
anarchy.
A high dirty ringing no
motive no discord oneself
cannot always be another
watching hear.
Just don’t add knowledge to it
and it lives a natural
death within generation
not caring.
5
Here everything must have
the freedom to leave to truth
to tell purpose is a sense
nothing more.
You are this other one you
face across the break in the
muffled sense of your being
otherwise.
A fragile command stone and
hung thick in noise and shudder
unnecessary righteous
as a face.
What is necessary fucks
us living in forms living
unmoving as an idea
and as real.
The cool damp oily air swells
at memory of it the
shed dark in blind waves of light
a first space.
Under the derangement of
the pine tree by that other
shed a space a ground for the
sense of things.
Think of them all as you would
a father or some other
integral generative
disorder.
The moment brings itself to
a proper peristalsis
nothing now between thought and
abjection.
One case where recognition
and actualization
are identical instant
and total.
What part if part to utter
does this spasm disclose of
the self so helpless to its
own no-gap?
The sky finding its earth in
the hour after the dawn and
the accident of beauty
eye and mind.
We say in and to we bring
it it comes stepping in to
that person we are where we
wherever.
6
Making a pledge each time to
make and say and say by the
making sit here and still be
the still now.
Cut in two the idea of
the idea drifting up to
the airs inarticulate
by the eyes.
Where does a path come from if
not feeling then what reason
and what a negation of
is that word.
No and nothing actual
slumming it in a mind and
holding tighter still now ask
it to last.
The most evident touching
space the heat of the sun on
sagging skin papery and
resistant.
The fading of the world of
wanting and not wanting of
contradicting the breath your
true nature.
That particular moment
that holds you to your dread of
this too the suffering of
suffering.
A true image of the mind
has no dimension by which
it could be truly minded
his mouth has.
To shut his sick lips worded
with trash and trash echoing
not felt not meaning no how
no to how.
Mind worded and failed it test
and tested it for know how
field notes from a tarded trip
to no how.
Sending self though the cold glass
into eucalyptus light
and sounds of night birds thin close
in the dark.
Landscape in moonlight remains
the amplification of
an absence now and again
now absent.
7
The remains absence itself
and the plover’s cry and the
years and nights and the mind a
depth of black.
That which is particular
can not now be understood
unfaithful eyes turned to the
unfaithful.
With what eye self and triplet
beat other than that noise in
the corner of the eye out
of the side.
Faith sees straight killing in the
periphery and elsewhere
with surety pleas to be
left faithless.
It thinks it has been alone
ground down to not felt not thought
how could it become something
else of kind?
A thought ordinary in
practical totality
scened as any other it
thinks it thinks.
Not caught in unenduring
deathless in its direction
towards a death its death a
passing thought.
Great silent space forgotten
how to know now what you are
doing walking when you are
then walking.
Anxious when you are anxious
angry breathing joyful when
you are joyful lit up by
it and all.
Remember that it is not
an idea to remember
nor an idea that can be
remembered.
Catch the idea how it is
supposed to happen figures
of light in light changing light
and changing.
When you were a child never
did you not know what to do
being how could it not be
when you were.
8
Pulse here with it or without
pulse in the pulse of it and
know not to catch it but to
sure being.
No barrier until these
words the noun changes over
overlaid and engrafted
onto it.
Dative case plural the noun
is indeterminate lost
they are as the carrion’s
carrion.
Old inhabitants taken
in the thrall of other down
to accelerate into
it ever.
Beyond the end of the next
breath who is such a person
living is nothing action
unsighted.
Living is precious and the
only thing you know time set
aside practicing this mind
is the way.
Cherry blossoms and a small
weathered plastic ornament
righteous otherwise such a
little soul.
How a way to start for love
something is going to get
thingified before too long
beautiful.
It is not and has never
been before too long before
sight rounded now in a trick
of the light.
The look of the stranger sent
expressing wide steady need
eyes knowing how to know it
unnoticed.
Its virtue is not yours the
actions arising from it
are yours and equal parts dirt
in that way.
A delimited surface
or a delimited non
surface or a curtain of
position.
9
Denominating statements
corruption hiding nothing
you only see what you are
looking for.
Spent love arcs down to felt spent
what experience what is
not truth it used to be one
without one.
Love to know the field touch the
field to love touch to unknow
the improvisation of
memory.
Yesterday perhaps perhaps
the day before when love spent
and was spent unhappily
behind it.
The real moving and closing
and the disease of judging
right behind the eyes ready
or below.
Self analysis is not
one nor the other never
the location of the pass
unresolved.
Remembering eyes and thought
the stream focused into the
impatient breath and time to
many more.
An eye or a breath of mind
a hiss under the guise of
some identity or some
settlement.
Slowly walking away an
indicator of a book
booked and loosed then to wisdom
functional.
Too easily caught by thought
and returned still scattered and
still resisting to the one
location.
True touching in the space of
still and full and seen obsess
to get out of the way to
let connect.
Not mind for a moment but
a body this body will
be a corpse this body is
so distant.
10
It really is just nothing
the stream streaming all surface
thoughts are like aches not to be
followed no.
You are not truly conscious
of time it is the coming
voice insisting coming and
coming back.
What eases beneath busy
breath and self talk is always
at easy exhalation
dropped and drop.
You are not truly ever
able to stop know stillness
is not stopped nor stopping but
ease itself.
Love is a word word is a
word a poem of joy is a
poem of joy you don’t own it
locates you.
Threads and siren and a dog
locates the sound in a fog
you don’t own awareness you
say it see.
Dogged in a basic kind of
discomfort to see what is
the cause of a joy fogged in
thoughts of cause.
Form and the absence of form
from the end behind the end
and straight here inside the thought
that truth thinks.
Truth has no special form and
truth is not constant and you
must keep on letting go of
opinion.
Truth truths of its self without
your thought or your base effort
without the grasping knowing
possessing.
Purpose is a sense nothing
more and your opinion is
a thought your judgements thinking
where you are.
There is no disharmony
in the world only in the
mind and if you don’t see it
it will come.
11
When you think who am I what
is it and when you don’t think
who am I what is it there
manifest.
No confusion in it hold
to the moment before thoughts
arise look into it and
you will see.
You will see not seeing if
you see not seeing put it
to one side to be free of
them you have.
You have to see them you have
to see without adding a
thing clarifying intent
is the way.
As if the surface could be
scratched as if the depth of it
the depth could be felt with these
fitful minds.
Grass waves on a hillside grass
winded and waving in late
golden sun cut through with
slant sheep trails.
This is the skittering and
the surface and what is the
form of water and what is its
true depth mind?
Remember what is was to
put you to sleep in love to
watch over your pulsing the
light’s equal.
Sunstruck dust motes hung over
your closed eyes slowly as the
time and gently as your breath
falling down.
The throbbing fontanelle is
closed and the watching and the
over now a heavier
shape of love.
Lived through with this and stories
told for lives sent rooting and
splayed and beautiful a child
is like this.
Play is like this love folded
and strung out and recognized
only by one who does not
recognize.
12
To make it up is perhaps
the most human thing to do
making is the last feeling
no longer.
Leveling is wisdom to
a point and next to nothing
really is the most real and
beautiful.
You know what you are doing
you must realize that you
know and resist the desire
to not know.
This is death the evasion
is death and so attractive
it tells you it is innate
it is not.
Hammering near sunset so
things are not empty their forms
are empty so they’re dreaming
right empty.
So they’re not dreaming right so
you can see near by the sun
near hammering light split on
an open.
There is neither a thing nor
a moment that is apart
from birth nor from death not yet
anyway.
Thought thinking thoughts sight the sense
seeing thoughts have the meaning
of just light to sight just noise
nothing else.
Patterning stands in for an
understanding as deep as
the very surface weave of
watering.
Meaning means more directly
than this involuntary
meaning is a face facing
across this.
Thought thinks the thinker puffed up
out of next to nothingness
the weave of ideation
transparent.
To non-thinking mind mind is
an action and joy is just
simple presence presencing
it is here.
13
To this mind a self loses
all of its selfness it can
not hold and can not but be
intimate.
The place where it won’t exist
come to that place come to that
perpetual delusion
of willing.
Cut at the root the tower
teeters centers teeters falls
fans of waste clouding out and
all away.
To not build on the ruins
of this is the most fearless
of realizations life
giving life.
You think now in a way that
brings fear out it was only
your ignorance that set it
so aside.
A darker grey graying more
swarming against pearlescent
face in patterns as lovely
as loving.
Out of the chimerical
ghetto you intimately
know now closely know it that
you will die.
It was late and what did you
expect her real illness will
be this desiring with which
you begin.
Left to it what does it do
itself is no self that you
could recognize throwing up
as you do.
It is of itself no more
than the skin it sees in the
skin of itself and human
enough now.
Enter the forgotten thought
or reenter the unthought
fallow generosity
you ignore.
Contraction around some core
some central worthlessness some
self or another drummed out
and up here.
14
What can resonate you out
of the hardening scute you
pull in to yourself but this
other one.
A thinking ground out to the
point where there really is no
point such struggle such pointless
dark action.
Grave flight from this and the next
affront breathless and senseless
both what sense could be there could
there be breath.
A storm of unknowing of
a particular kind a
particularity of
kind unknown.
Hence out and outer to touch
at an essence darkened to
obscurity blind as the
rapid clouds.
We look for a mark of some
magic in our ignorance
calling it wisdom with all
gravity.
A hand reaches gently to
touch leaf and stem their moment
and wisdom is just this just
delving touch.
Touchless and watery light
early too early to live
yet and to take on the life
of the ground.
Earth is the saturating
element bringing to touch
the density of light in
closing air.
Eye to mind and mind to mind
again the light is mind and
so is mortal our light ours
to live with.
Empty means first of all in
the anarchy of effort
holding up the negative
deduction.
Reproduction without end
thought following thought tilted
folded collapsing in dead
proportion.
15
Rain glasses the fly screen soon
leaving a pulsing membrane
or a mirror with which to
compensate.
Bitter waters flow on in
blanching light feeling it all
out there are yet no shadows
no dwellings.
Sun is screeching short above
some abstract element or
simply existence perhaps
potential.
Water’s course through this is set
not from an abundance but
from a weakness its thinness
of substance.
A splash of water on a
face from the leaky hold of
hands held prayerfully to this
the moment.
Not experience not the
repetition of this a
sufficient imperfection
sensed from it.
Water without end or flow
is experience and is
not a property not the
property.
It is they and you are a
verb rather than a noun not
certainly not this scanty
avatar.
Some landscape indistinct to
itself fogged and throttled this
self this self without itself
lost to it.
What is happening if not
this happening no-self not
nor any experienced
charity?
One moon two moons do away
with it as they are as you
would the identity of
a number.
A golden syrup of light
from the west holds the form of
a eucalypt quivering
and you see.
16
A small pool of color deep
admixes and gravity
a mind your mind holds this depth
skeptical.
Word has it and the word is
suffering with elegant
and knowing aspect better
suffering.
The word is not quite right though
suffering is alone and
full and functions fully as
does the word.
The breath before word is there
always and there fully it
allows the thought of the word
and its word.
Tell do not tell no matter
when you have nothing at all
give it away and then give
that away.
The word’s word is without not
yet the gift of giving no
not yet knowing how to give
that away.
You struggle to avoid it
wasting not knowing that this
struggle is the very form
of wasting.
Hung balanced fragile it is
a harmony of a kind
held by the pieces no the
relations.
Shadow on evening slope
draws longer longer and is
suddenly total across
the moment.
As if playing a time game
thought is word and word is thought
out is out not is not now
nor never.
Love without the word expressed
the worthlessness the value
the true value of no worth
essential.
Real is the ugliest and
true must pain and barb you think
and think in place of a true
expression.
17
Essential to feeling just
feeling nothing more than thought
the thinking of expresses
none of it.
The want of the curved and complete
the fullest and the wholest
the finished comes back to no
real resolve.
Resolution hides itself
as real is the real in the
real of itself of no one
or other.
It really is just this one
thing the property the face
the freedom to free a mark
singular.
The soul nothing but a breath
and composition blinded
flowing persistent to the
step not through.
Cool air on warm skin warm from
sun and the scent of some sense
or memory or construct
pulling back.
The soul nothing but a word
and conception set it down
now knowing what love it is
to remain.
Across it the carrying
across not what is carried
nor the carrying from it
and to it.
This birthmark is a stop of
a kind a holding still that
takes you not takes you no takes
you nowhere.
You cannot but not and why
can you believe anything
in this wanting to stop to
come to stop?
Set in the sum not the self
a physical suffering
behind the forehead behind
the left eye.
Distraction over the clear
purpose and connection to
awareness away from the
flow of thoughts.
18
Distinguishing consciousness
from thought the bare and simple
watching repeated opened
opening.
How do we know when it’s death
he asked and what good answer
is there to that speak and you
lose your life.
Objects may appear distant
before they crush and grind you
in nothing more than a breath
an instant.
Objects may appear close to
one not hiding not holding
speak and you have a moment
on and on.
Peace in a dark fold he said
and lips a dark fold he said
a life is melody not
harmony.
The line is thin and vivid
that cuts through limping duty
seeking some or another
remedy.
What wandering does he know
to speak cramming up the air
lost and dilating what cause
sufficient?
A dulling knot or only
the urge to some convincing
motion briskly capturing
permission.
Ashes float on the surface
waving eluding saving
from a dim tremor of a
live entry.
Relaxing this aching grip
and brimming the omission
to attention and love and
fleet heart lift.
Delight repeals this patch of
unrepaired concession but
you play dumb ignoring the
reminder.
Even now even more than
even what hungers for a
loving irreplaceable
a torrent.
19
It is an awful effort
of will to clench around this
residue and such freedom
to open.
Memory comes up from it
the memory last and most
close the experience masked
further still.
A jetliner flies sideways
into the cold cloud and out
of sight a crane waves across
grey and white.
The words already have lost
it more words now cannot but
lose it further lose it deep
and deeper.
Let lostness be true not fear
and homelessness be home as
it is and not disquiet
or unease.
Realize that you must give
yourself to it and see it
see what really is before
your seeing.
Full-throated and presently
beyond conceiving the world
sings to you that there is no
other place.
Ordinary mind is the
bright and open sky way and
this old back loves the sun on
it shining.
The essence of memory
is this same uncanny move
alien to the world and
to presence.
Breathing breathing watching it
rise on legs of their single
and own accord towards the
last last time.
You will lose your life she said
with such a concern for how
you are to live you will miss
all of it.
The thought and its stream does not
oppose your life your breath it
just takes you elsewhere away
from it is.
20
A benison to breath this
way this air this one device
of living this beautiful
soft anchor.
To make breathe let love be love
let not love be not it is
not the world not the real of
it not it.
The world out the high window
of your childhood lives vivid
in the mind that now keeps you
from the world.
Set it down the immense weight
of your body heaviness
of your remembered torso
set it down.
Set the way follow the way
through the junction set of mind
to the world groundless perfect
as perfect.
Impossibly white hurried
clouds and a chill of early
autumn passing through summer
clothes to touch.
All the world’s enchantment needs
is a moment of quiet
in warming sun eyes pulsing
neon red.
It is not a heart this vane
spinning helplessly it is
a heart’s disconnection from
its itself.
Realization is not
yet actualization
come down off the mountain to
sit with it.
Who has not seen another
really another in their
reality their tearing
otherness?
It is not a heart it is
a revelator the small
crying girl and her giant
father seen.
Hard cut and somewhere something
is about to be found out
in the way such things often
are found out.
21
Not knowledge not memory
a mechanism or a
function certainly it is
a function.
Just as it is this moment
is all time all space future
memory past all knowledge
left wasted.
Night cry of dark flight is the
distance is the solitude
is the comfort of being
otherless.
Spilt and left the others call
from their other otherness
deep liquid pools of distance
cool and dark.
With depth stillness and love of
a kind the kind of love that
is possible only with
a distance.
Its provisionality
offends its impermanence
as if it is beneath us
to live this.
What bird thinks this what tree could
grasp to this delusion it
is yours alone ours alone
it is us.
A tree does not hope she says
from the shadowed dark true dark
of hope exposed by the light
of patience.
As though it could fasten word
to the deepest mystery
of snow felt on an upturned
face struck still.
One oh four and how does he
come to appear in this field
at this particular time
nakedly?
A form to come to forget
becalm it down through darkness
this the life that has thrown it
through dense air.
If sin blinds and stops up as
it is said and pure path true
to an untouchable north
leave me here.
22
There is no more to it than
that perhaps carrying and
holding the patience to wait
a moment.
Little bits of thought that have
no use little bits of use
perfect fiction and absence
threatening.
Such loveless devotion to
your suffering as though you
wanted nothing more as if
it were you.
Voice comes up from deep in the
chest its origin obscure
passing the throat lips is the
passing through.
Determination of the
material is not the
determination of this
dumb matter.
Desire ends it all in its
way bunching hands in front of
the chest anxious holding not
together.
A sparrow hears the heavy
machinery and is puffed
by the cold wind while love is
a membrane.
A dog barks at squirrels in
the murk wind voices the trees
senses retreat from the world
from substance.
A cold turn a hard frost and
milkweed snow in a chill wind
a dream of a child calling
out calling.
The fold of hill into hill
ice on the clothesline and the
aging skin on a pale neck
wearing thin.
Skin a balance a moment
hearing is touch in a most
intimate way expression
fully formed.
The surface is surface and
aversion rippling above
a stilling bruised light of the
intimate.
23
Energy is obscure here
in its coming and going
movement thought capacity
resistance.
All perceptions contain a
thinking and the opposite
mind divides it is just the
division.
Two days and two nights sunless
then with the breaking dawn it
is the unsure light itself
wakening.
The one thing still that can be
recognized cannot yet be
understood in remains of
closing time.
The light the word the scuppered
word not yet question yet not
formed laying as if it were
the dim light.
Thinking drops its veil across
the world and is the world as
the sharp moon in a dewdrop
is the moon.
A simple wave form into
another high and low clouds
seem to collide this way with
tenderness.
Making of it the result
regardless some stillness of
the mind at work thrown away
coming back.
A single voice suggests the
others brings the others with
it as into an empty
room the light.
Seeping slow quick slow across
soft and dusty and closing
space to a communion
with crystal.
A missing being as if
it were made of earth not wild
but cloudy you can see the
turbulence.
More a gesture than a voice
describing wording and word
both and exceeding as a
gesture will.
24
Hermetic and elastic
worn and barely felt it is
experience that hides the
living joy.
We must all be like this but
everywhere there is not
a thing mind is just this gang
of bandits.
Its instrumentality
is its substance its brute thick
density perceived complete
and unreal.
An end to ends this here and
that there speak it out send it
out when it takes then takes on
speaking shape.
A final measure a cupped
ear and light rained from above
feeling seeing now with no
evasion.
Walk through it as though you were
swimming full of grace liquid
frictionless a life living
a living.
To break it is to give it
give it beautiful sense a
beautiful sense all of the
closeness there.
Night is there somewhere touching
behind the scrap of sight that
is this day a substance more
dense than light.
An elemental need came
inarticulate as a
crow’s cark cark as piercing too
to be loved.
A dissonant swarm is life
perhaps at least it stands for
life thinking life is such a
hard pleasure.
Slow through motion without it
below pulse slow and above
skittering waves ripples the
form of wave.
Wide and swollen stung what is
it when you don’t take it when
you don’t take it away then
uncertain.
25
Life performing life what could
get in the way of the life
the way of the life some stripped
canticle.
A recognition without
identification will
open the world unselfish the
self just this.
Dissonance unselfed is just
this the world this world the it
itself sounding sound simply
vibrant air.
Watching it think it thinks it
is not enough no never
not enough not ever and
no longer.
Space and time is torn apart
by a mind by a clouding
body and what is not a
vibration?
Skilled in avoidance and why
belief is mind’s exhaustion
and why the why what has been
exhausted?
A shining heart no figure
leaving the body behind
a slow underwater pulse
descending.
What particles what nonsense
it is all qualia it
is nothing true but not the
nothing thought.
Angel and toad primary
material an ancient
kiss on a dried cheek ragged
with living.
Up out of the earth the breath
of the earth rough wet skin is
sloughing off the toad’s slow face
impassive.
Angel is a word as god
and a clench of the mind a
contraction of nacre on
grit of it.
Is the instant of vision
different from the instant
of thought or the instant of
light instant?
26
Bird as a stone falling or
thrown set shattering glassy
air before her wondering
eyes cold green.
Grassless pine space cooling the
feet and holding the hot mind
of the child for a moment
here again.
Memory again here and
then the memory of that
and the last and last before
collapsing.
Destroy the instants return
to nothing returning like
a muscle relaxing from
contraction.
Mirror is light mirror the
light mirror is forgetting
so your face vibrating is
never held.
Perhaps it is worth being
born this four fifty seven
sets itself now and you fall
through the time.
If you had known that you would
not be born and not be left
it would not have left such a
sharp tart taste.
When it started was born and
set for itself such title
as stays such through time against
the living.
It is hidden it is no
thing light curves to eye through the
dark medium also no
thing hidden.
The sum of our memories
leaves no trace not even a
carcass to nourish the cold
thirsty earth.
Fold upon fold the world folds
without as much as a sigh
of longing for itself it
fits a mind.
Sight has a form seeing is
formless the contemplation
of an empty field static
electric.
27
A sound sounds and is met by
a hearing what thought was so
monstrous as to create this
the word god?
Scarcely left nothing is left
to nothing to wander lost
for the first form there is a
first escape.
Comes so uselessly sincere
memory of memory
here and not then too not to
consider.
Less than that the death you leave
behind less than all of it
squall and damage the voided
shapeless form.
Oneself as one another
not the story that might be
told but not one not other
in union.
There is nothing such as birth
or death to be avoided
hot close air and clouded glare
here I am.
One word two words like never
I like never diminished
and absolute not even
or ever.
What is the world what is not
the word set against white blank
its field I want to think but
hold away.
Neither grasping nor setting
a resistance I achieve
nothing completely it is
poetry.
I am obscure to myself
which of these is hidden and
which is if not present then
visible?
I can never tell my own
there are those that are sadder
than my own there is that thought
there it is.
Will I somehow manage to
die after all this the blank
rough page on fingertips
older now?
abstract sleepwalk 