survival of disappearance
stranger than the way it is
with unknown translation
like an escaped oblivion
or quatrains from a vanished book
written on yellow paper
with purple-black ink
casting shadows among the shades
that group the lime trees
in their huddle of powdered gold
gathering scattered thoughts together
in an epitaph to the vanishing of
extreme affection and devotion
that passes away
in the hand of the wind

We do not belong to this world - we are immortal
I go where you go - I have to
For the world has conspired with my thoughts
And everywhere I look I see your presence…..

how different
the temper of the true
whose anger
can make the worst
the better cause
and give
delightful form
to fiction
as that of fact
where their
frequentation
becomes the inequality
of imagination
a delicate
truth telling lie

sitting in a bar unawares

sobriety is relinquished

incoherence

voicing hallucinated delirium

sweating profusely in distress

disconnected

without identity, without form

a long and terrible descent

into the effects of derealization

staring at nothing

listening to imaginary sounds

that cling to the dark draperies

that hang upon the walls of the mind

charting the outer geography of life

with invested inner humanity

in that instant
consumed suns
planets moons
fire out
annihilated to nothingness
then into his mouth
all darkness pours
he shallows and he shallows
and the darkness pours in
it is the abyss of humanness
into which we reach
not knowing where
the bottom lies
now the darkness
shines on his face
a cold metallic blue
while a historical shadow
sits on his mouth

the day before yesterday
is different than today
streets are deserted
a population lost in a city
searches for its destination
beautiful and disturbing
statues stare at me
with a ****** plausibility  
though I think they are blind
there is a heartbeat
it pounds politely
making an inventory of time
that possesses
the magnitude of a disaster
because the day before yesterday
is different than today

old prayers scuttle,

amen themselves

still the air

and to this quiet place

the unquiet come

those who fall

for they are cursed

who bright their coffins here

and follow water

to its pure black fountain

appear like bats

charred black pages

from a burnt book

darken the twilight sky

they embrace

turning light to darkness

those

undead

now

unlive