Prelude:
From Fullness swathing, wake left
in wake of...truly, there is no passing
but an Emptying of Fullness.
...Needless to say, ecstatically
vibrating...you have all the blessings
silence can muster.



Could, I would...imbed this sky
in memory, self-proclaim its radiant
blankness upon it.
That I may be what I see, already
in memory of me, though I've come
to know and love...that any personal
touch, is yet an impersonal one.
Bless that which was drawn in, and
drawn out...lay the heart entire upon it.
We are the Knowers of things that stand,
and tilt by degree momently...we are
the Knowers of the last leg, lest it
overstep that which it's overstepped by.
Fit for us, as every other--momentously,
equally fit...the call to life is what silence
took as her deepest secret.
Nothing could wrest this burden from
her hands, for she loves it as her self...
therefore restores what she holds forever.


~Om Namah Shivaya~

Ubermensch gone doggy between your legs,
a minute heathen, incensed prophet, whose
last rites scatter.
Moth-ornate tome in a terrible scream, whose
barbed print appeals to what lucid interval
gains thee.
Heights to take as lovers, brain's genitalia in
a bunch.
Meridians frolic in arms risen, hence, hence--
crushed tumult in touch.
An infectious groveling that other may see,
take hold.
Odd aphrodisiac, you--human half, halved,
halved and halved.
Penumbra, split-screen vision of Zion, come--
I came, I implore with birthright.
A studious damnation leaves us a leprous
expose, eye-candy as sweet as sacrament.
Skies sent and returned gone swamp-green,
can't you feel the interplanetary squelch that's
bound us?
Strange...fool of chills, hunched with electrified
hair come I, full of longing, barren.
Let us decipher one another, break judgement
over our knees, and caress one another's
downturned eyes.
Let us have a look at one another till we become
worldwide, let us perfect our immoderation.


Konstantinos Mark

Hoarse as the silence Virgil
wore...to allow for a clearing,
be it a soul.
A spring breeze caught in the
throat of winter saith: "Here
is your point (remain)...when
I cease to blow, so shall you
return."
At the farthest end of loss...
at the closest reach of gain--
their one and the sameness
shall impress a telling.
Hoarse as the silence Virgil
wore...to allow for a clearing,
a soul saith unto itself thus.


Konstantinos Mark

It is of no use to ask why birds commend
the spirit of a day, nor how near their song
gets to sunlight.
We waken to such things, we come to avail
as an open sky...there is no question of
forbearance.
Unmoved as diamonds without valuation,
the light of day...the unseen inner light that
is not day.
The eyes open, and the feeling that sinks as
yet rises--the first and last Frontier can be
seen at once.
Light is before flesh and bone, light is after flesh
and bone...the sun is merely our concentration.


Konstantinos Mark

Bluing takes on blue--bluer
elimination rounds of sloshing sublimity.
A heart mouthing its breaker...as
Hokusai's immortal upheaval, the shape
of cataclysmic implication at the peak of
its powers...lent to shapeless actuation.
You may be counted among those
drown by a neutrally charged force
of nature.
Peace be on the heart that could not
help but take it personal...peace be on it.

Konstantinos Mark
*The first of a series of poems.