Watching a hawk flying
from my window...
I swore I felt it gliding
through my sky-mind.
One spacious encirclement
after another...
felt like white silk pulled
through a white cloud...
as my eyelids slid
downward by some
indeterminate pull.

These infantile, and awkward
steps to the Countless Embrace.
Reliving sunless suns, the blackened
circles of a karmic dance.
Dizzy as ever, dear Lord...still as ever, dear Lord...
center to circumference, drop to ripple.
Tracing newer and newer boundaries
in your Zen-white.
Self-crossing, and aloft...bliss-born
every moment, a Spark in an undulant veil.

O to commit
this cross-examination to
memory.
From spark to
ash...lays parameters
to the all-consumed.

Walking on the
jetty's slippery
boulders at
low tide...
was a wonderful
practice in
mindfulness.

There the window
to the world, if just
beyond it be from
me...rain droplets
cling to leaves
coloring their leave.
The rain droplets
come to heads of
light in all their
transparency...waiting
for a wind to weep
their only ecstasy,
down...up.

Your porousness
easily kicks the
light in and out
of atoms.
I seem to fall at
your feet, the way
a wave transfers
its travail to the
stasis of sand.
You personally
saw to it...I fall
in love with my
impersonality.
My dear Lord,
you always want
more for me.

The sky is where
prayer purges--
returned to sender,
in a wink.
Given to an
inner space full with what
needs eradication.
To the astonishment
of the sender,
prayer returned as a
greater space for
realization.
Prayer was never
sent, nor returned.
Prayer being... beginingless,
and endless.
There is only One
momentous prayer,
relegated to moments.
Where question and
answer grow out of
one another,
in dualistic interchange.
Till question, questions--
answer, answers...
to indistinction.
As question is questionable,
and answer is answerable...
to nothing but everything.
Prayer as doing--
to prayer as being.

Salmon kiss
a river twice upon
its running cheeks,
over and again...
till turned upon,
as if hit by an avalanche
from a peek to be thrice
blessed.
Countercurrent,
concurrent
agon of salmon...
upon their side, still with ascent.

At the bend of a park path,
a stranger and I fell into
conversation--a give
and take of rootlessness.
He sat,
I stood...both riveted
by falling leaves.

Of blood and apathy,
as water left running...
heedlessly.
Of blood and apathy,
as water left running...
heedlessly.
Of blood and apathy,
as water left running...
heedlessly.
Warm then cold...so
**** cold.
As if the human race,
is survived by the human race.

Bleeding buffers,
pressed against
a world that pictures...
ramifying colors--
spidering glass that crackles.
What a beautiful
headdress.
Stasis of newness,
plus and minus the
headiness of years.

When senses spent
themselves, a prudent
thought placed a mint
upon a hotel pillow.
Our postal pearl...
gone modern.

You came to outlive a living-death.
If sin is born of the exigence
of death, you nullified it with
everlasting life.
To know a world for all it's worth...
you have to live as if it depended upon you--
and so you did.
Never before was such an embrace crucified.
You lived for everything in front of you...
as if it got behind you, presenting you with
the same zeal.
You came knowing...Truth is unbetrayable.

Mark how, with alien glow--
an imposing form proclaims your
ecstasy, mark!
This monolith of first blushes.
Circuited by a spirit on leave...contours
of seeped salt lit by their sweet burrow.
Ground firmed, with every step the fall
of the world--whose rise only knows
successive steps.
Fast upon heels...keeled over--glistening
with anointment...mark how!
This overarching winter--of co conspirators
in the dead of...who bank and blow
blood till blue in the face.
Their skulls slated to sleep through, as white alms bowls--
yet they contrive...bite you upon both hands,
with the crumpled features of the face you empower.
You are the bell's curfew, a sound more
ancient than rite...where hearers come out
of their skin.
You leave peace to itself...to your quadrant
gape--lest to see what may, or may not configure.
Knowing what endeavors to stain--will belabor
to dissolve as that stain.
How like grape to wine--how like wine to oblivion...
to sodden a leavened sky.
With the care of a flower--never petulant in its exorbitant
youth, cut and set down...one for every step circuiting
this monolith.
These shocked straits of limbs, overrun with sourceless
current...flow onward, onward, onward--by command!
One miraculous, an continuous deference to that
command...seeking out what shall sate the need to do.
What is it to be content with what thou art...is it to forgo,
do what thou wilt?
Retain thy image...do not cast what thou were cast in the
image of...a voice says.
Who hears--as command is voiced, both command and
commanded hear, here.
Unmoved mover--Monolith...dispassionate salve to daily
death, circuited by spirit.
Till blindness, deafness fully informed of stone--alien with
glow...marked how!!!

That baleful germ watches my going rate.
Comes with blunted spear--chafed flesh
pulled through Nothing come to its tether.
An ingrown horn--gluey eyes sleepless as
any decor in a crooked House.
One wing up on a downturned one.
A roving cackle that stokes the throat of
its fire.
As if the pleasantries of a disfigured humor
abide their disease--know their place
amongst what was, but is no more.
The precipice stilled all the more in dark
of its sky, what land there was to distance
closed...pushed outward the demon's
face as it sped downward.
The All summed up in a word shy of its
Word.
O demon, self-contained thing...whose
slights bar thee by design.
By God's reluctance, animus thee spend,
to rule out what good could come of thee.
As if by the taking you secure increase--
there's no rallying God by the taking...
nay by private fang nor claw core undone.
Your striving put you to what you are.
As so, it is you...that makes the face of
anything--just until it shall have of itself,
bear itself.
That bearing be Godly--your industry is one
of delight in the confusion prior to that
bearing--O demon!
Hence, you are cast out by what sets its
sights by right divine!

As you slowly
arrest oceans
apart, land masses
fall under persuasion.
The water stills...
skyless, starless.
What's been claimed
can no longer bear
reflection.

This place is time...
as this body is mind.
The sun's only a
kernel of truth...
lent to ever greater
truth telling.
The Candle that lit
the candle can't be
found...only the
iconography of a native
surround.

Plush me purple--

your lap,

take this head in

my memory.

Send down your hair,

I can't climb up--I'll bite,

hair clip me Ma, come on Ma--

hair clip me Kali Ma.

Don't know where my body

is girl...break yours in dance.

Throw me off, far off...

air out my tongue,

**** the lullabies from my ears,

lick my blades of hair.

Let my eyebrows crawl into

my eyes...to be inhaled by my nostrils.

I only smell you till I get passed the fear.

Things to draw from,

as bare as everywhere--

so minds and memories

take away from minds

and memories what they will...

akin to ghosts unable

to renounce possessions.

hair standing on end--

wick sailing amber head.

saint's aura bursting

the bubbles of flowers--

garish rich to slithering

breezes enchanting a

native son.

unborn like Maharaja

said...without worded

mince.

The Self watches drops

slip the rim of the bucket

as it's drawn up the well.

If there were
words...I would
clear a space
for them...as if
there were no
words.
The way the
world means
everything,
everywhere you
may be...
so there's nowhere
you may not be.

As if what's thinly
veiled undone by
spindly fingers...
the limbs of the
tree shook withdrawingly,
as the hand of a great
tragedian.
Laced in ice, one could
see water droplets slide
down their silver tunnels...
in a fine melt.

These pipe dreams
exquisitely piped...
through these cylindrical
circles cloying what opens
an end, as a means.
Living men and women's
tunnel vision...dying men
and women's tunnel vision.
Exquisitely piped.

The withering of
flowers only initiate
their drift to incredible
refinement.
Their scents remain
in the ethers, these
stars of spring...that
forever inspire winter.
To withdraw from
its white meditation,
as unblent color.

...Creation makes all

kinds of sound,

to pronounce its

first & last Word...

Glassy-eyed, peering
into the mirror...
with granting clarity
my image appeared
in my pupils.
More became less...
as the image betrayed
expendability.
I felt joy in fracticality.

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

Lent from completion,  there was

nothing left...the heart of the

Heart dovetailed earthward,

for the express purpose of the

Express Purpose.

We name flowers
to bide their fragrant
time...children of the
air, universally flown.

You who would
give the world
back to itself...
came into it today.
You've entered
yet again, where
entry was barred...
your starry rising
trembles in a host
of eyes.

The wakefulness of Light
is utter, greater and greater
luminosities...sight
parting ways with sight,
to truly see.
Beautiful impasses...seeing
through now, now, and now.
Handing sleep to a body
with less frequency...
a stain of shadows upon
something, nothing--
seeing
itself as if for the first time.

A stimulated atrophy...
wearing winter's
fleshy wistfulness.
Enchantress of
livid reflections.
Scent secreted away
by a breeze of no
origin.