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...