In the wake of slanting dipping and departing years
the flow and reprisal of unfettered commitment

in the afterdealing and backslip of having tasted
the nostalgia that is inception and incendiary

in the tiring of impenetrable distance and imagining
the dictates of what is lacking and most essential

the name of longing is one name and one gaze
a glistening amber indulgence that spells and savors eternity

the language of all that was once given
and in a million other lives will not let providence slip…

No es así
es marea y contratiempo
es tramuntana y épicas debilidades
acechando en coro
torrente de aproximaciones
el secreto ámbito
de la búsqueda
que no conoce fin alguno…

limpia capaz de ser algo más
que una incendiada desaparición
capaz de ser promotor
y soledad
en una misma voz de lluvia
el no poder no poder…

awake / to new world / willing
breach / old barriers / with clarity
let flags / go (sullen) their way / without us
speak / the necessary / topology
turn turtle / musics into / symphonies

ask intimacy / for new worlds / & will
leaves / describe the shape / of time
recent time / bends / with simple words
inlaid into / fruition / authentic swellings
old barriers / lace simple words / like poison

the human heart / great metaphorical / bath
citrus tide / the wind’s / springtime weather
the forgetting / the wish / the vanishing
perfection / for the reaching / for anyone
walking / awakening / hinging on mind

what kind of desolation seeks you?
what desolation might you pursue?

soft words? weaknesses of flesh?
untruths & superstitions?

the gravity of a place lost to time?
all desolations belong to you to me

to our future selves to the student
past we must inherit to the winds

that brought us to rest at this point
in the outlay of historical centrifuge…

we share
a cramped space
because we have chosen it
because we desire
one another’s
stilted
unwavering
company

mish-mash of gazes
crossing
knowing
the turmoil
of deliberate unison

because with all the space
& the filter
& inflation
of the ‘known’ world
we have come to prefer
corners
proximities
sojourn

we have come to know
there is a taste of sojourn
in our sharing
of cramped spaces…

Politician circus-clown death-masque
bleak words
performers performative matrices
these the paradoxical
(pluri)continuum of the philosopher (being
[torrent of 'circumfession'])
being (human)…

The question is as much
a non-question (an error,
a lust, a vagabond) as anything
else (might be)…

our universe
pure will moving
a collective intelligence
a systematically accidental
teamwork
phenomenon

life
wherever conditions permit
seems to have cropped up

& we
the frail thinking
low-voltage
creatures
whose minds
each a metaphysic
a microcosm
mimic the whole

we the ‘stardust’
that we are
we think & struggle
to have proper
individual wills
to control
to decide

we must remember the void
stumble upon it
midstream
complain of strange
psychic vacuity
depression

we must ‘invent’
the ‘concept’
zero

to aid us
in our archival crusade
against difference
impenetrable singular
inflation

with the small
measured steps
of scientific proceeding
we seek to take control
to make red giants
or supermassive interstellar
cumulus
bundles for surviving
our own eventual
combustion

but our bodies
are able to contain
& manage only so much
of the cosmic will
before the circuitry
is overwhelmed

& we forget
we aspire
to forget
that we very well might
collapse under the weight
of all that we have
tried to assimilate
diminish & categorize

we forget
that the will
might not want us to
act

that our rebellion
might be squashed

that we may be fated
to become the very
singularity
at the center of a darkness
which has always been

the focus of all our wheeling
pained specieal amnesia
& discovery…

blind
true
needlepoint
ailment
spilling
cosmos
closure
guilt