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...