I awake and the earth is dead

Its life has evaporated

They plundered it

Their persistence unremitting

Surviving their own fragmentation

By storing ***** in a refrigerator

And leaving, abandoning the earth

Accelerating their departure

As if the earth is a transient consciousness

Their trajectory pursing an arc

To a timeless interior they flee

I awake and the earth is dead

Doctors say I’m mad

Oh once more for Absinthe, ***** and rhymes

To allow the steerage of my passage

Without pious pilgrimages to empty silences

That contain an eternity of tears

It graciously offers a coverage

For the echo of footsteps

Allowing the magic moments to come

To be part of my existence

Master of silence it offers knowledge

Of invaded consciousness

A Bedlam of paradise

It shows me in its single breath

A complete dispersion of the

Boundaries of my mind

And tears alone remain

It is true, I have seen it

is there hope between a stone
like the figurative speech of abstracton
those fragile metophers of life
an essesnce of fleeting moments of existence
like some iconic inventory of bourgious values
that reinscribe themselves
on the inside of your eyeballs
so when you close them
they become a cultural outpost
here where inventory shades into affermation
where poeple come, clamour
to claim it as thier own
where a thousand seductions become one illusion
your eyes closed peer
into and enchanted looking glass of stone
where brooding darkness
offers beauty and hope
but rules here are different
language, customs, values
are not what they seem
for if you look back
it is a piller of salt
who will turn into you
for this is a place of images
images built upon images
constructed upon layers
and layers of so much paint
and you ask yourself ( without much instistence)
is there hope between a stone
and in this brief moment of asking
you give a life time

To the snark

To dark it was

To spark

To misty

To behave

To easy

To set fire

To a Vatican conclave

To easy for others

To choke on scented smoke

To easy for the Snark who was not ashamed

To shout in eager chorus another fool have they named

To wit he laughed and strode away

To Snark…Snark…Snark…Snark…Snark

To be sure this is the noise a Snark makes when he walks away

To be honest if you meet one you will know provided he walks away

To be sure he may stay and try and eat you..........

...is there a silence..for I can hear it...that noisy silence as it falls about me in perpetual silence...strains the ear...halts the chest.....why is this silence so audible...can you hear it...or is it just me....this sound of silence....silence in the lime trees...:) Edgar

Socratic polemics

In a wilderness

Of waistcoats

Listening to noisy

Cups of coffee

an intimacy of affections and intimate attentions
hovers in the air
sometimes shimmering
perhaps swirling
this way and that
creating at its core an impulse of hope
of a shared dream
drawn to each as each is to each
as in pursuit of that which is hidden in our hearts
obscured by what we think we know about ourselves
yet we are drawn into this thing
and find ourselves called to each other
in pursuit of our dreams of love
yet we have lived this long experience
these shared echoes that we realise#
each without each would be stunningly incomplete
a lavish perfume it envelopes us
invests us with new forms
in the most powerful and novel ways
with new rituals and language
we bristle with unexamined interpersonal connections
so gentle, so powerful, so beautiful
like the terms borrowed
from tow different galaxies of homeless stars
yet complement each other as a whole
for we have found it
what
love
what is it
it is the music only we can hear
for we are the duality of our dream

Smiling eyes

In sensuous touch

Of naked sound

Taste mysterious pulses

Imprisoned yet unbound

Spangled light reflected

Colors that pierce the ground

While echoes of

Forgotten brush strokes flutter

Like a thousand birds all around

One moment, this moment

This scene, Oh! this freedom

Holding in the artists tender touch

The promise of a lifetime

unendurable, long and exhausting
are the pains
presumptuous in their plenty
such are these pernicious pains
that swarm in a slivering hiss
upon dark and lurking shadows
aesthetically applauding themselves
as they push here and there
in their wounding commentary
of painful narrative
agonising enough to reduce
the soul to debilitating bouts
of disagreeably damaging experience
with startling exaggerations
that produce disgraceful extortions
upon mind and body
squandering unbearable isolations
fragmenting the cracks
in a delicate structure of personality
uprooting it from a sanctified paradise
providing instead a monstrous, shameful loathing
that makes one choose to become another
other than those unthinking
other than this misery of anguish
other than this pain
deliberately to provoke an anger
the other with ingratiating timidity
or rebellious defiance
favouring a rejection of
all resentful obligations
all that is distasteful
all that is not worth carrying out
such as with a contempt
that allows one to escape into an emptiness
of the ridiculous and the impossible
through thoughts to an absurdity of beliefs
through the deserted streets
the neighbourhoods of the lie
pass the filthy inadequacies
of obscene caresses
where one is mocked
by exquisitely satisfying ******
of vicious pains
pains that control behaviour
freedom of movement
time and space
who appear at corners of the mouth
where lurk sarcastic secrets
now I know in these horrors and torments
that  time has stopped in all dimensions
eternity has ceased

black storms rage in his eyes

fierce, frightening dust devils

making silent apocalyptic statements  

while searching for identity

recording the sound of color

black, white, red, green, blue

experiencing a drift of thought

as if floating in a dream

menaced suddenly by vowels

distorted, disconnected in delirium

he perceives a frequency in the air

like disturbed hidden speech

or a dream that cannot find

its alternative

and whose function it is

to study drug wasted features

of a skeletal torso

or to recall the unrelieved

immobility of time and place

to write the color of sound

Words move and dance

Like shimmering beams

I know all is not what it seems

For they move in such undelightful grace

I know not where or is their place

Then all at once as if by chance

Change their charismatic dance

Which has left me in such a trance

It continues in far advance of all

The things I can enhance and leaves

Me feeling in Wondrous Joy

Of that beautiful rhythmic Charville boy

a shroud approaches me from the side
it's grey with wide, wide eyes
it follows me and brings a melancholy
it's wide eyes are like bloodshot
wolves in water
why does it follow me
what have i done, i know not
i do know it means to cause
an uncalled for resentment
where the implement of death
will furrow the fields
and blood uncalled for becomes  
a withering harvest of tongues
that cast upon the world
vile, putrid and villainous words
whose untruth becomes the cause
of bloodstained vocabularies
way beyond all compass
giving speech to black shadows
where these congregated silhouettes
dump their nightmares  
and two perfectly disturbing towers
plant signs in defiant ground
ignoring the tragedy this setting shall provide
causing a destruction as it goes
destroying the sparkle of the universe
through all the ages
ending in an eternity of shrouds

where is your voice in this repulse
for I have no voice to praise
it has scattered the beautiful storm
while a hideous laughter resounds
and burns like a revived repellent
oh what is this repulse, what is it so
that makes me weep assumptions
and forces life to take leave of my anguish
my senses my consciousness
what is this repulse, tell what is this repulse
is it that of a communication that jumps back
that causes the soul to vibrate continuously
in riotous unison with the universe
what is this repulse, is it hate, is it hate

A blackness drips from my eyes

Into a cataclysm that awaits

Strung out in the coal black void

Piercing sentiments of symmetry

Elucidating a journey

From the external world

Where I seek sanctuary for my visions

Before they are thrown, dashed

Against bare brick walls

The ultimate realisation of imaginative truth

Shattering in torment falling

Sprinkling to a festering ground

Proclaiming the dominance of emptiness

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

I am aware of nothing

That has brought me here

A boy, on the threshold

Of being

At the front door of a Dantian pit

I am on the inside of night

Where a racing heartbeat

Measures time by its frantic beat

A mirror appears

Providing a compulsion to stare

I gaze and realise

The impersonation is the real being

And I am the occupant of a mask

A cosmic persona

Of the true nature of identity

The same strangers in all respects

Twins of a harlequined society

How do I translate him

His language that has no tongue

He of such familiar style

Whose behavior leaves

A weak communication

Balanced on my lips

With such elusive possession

That transforms me into

A strange image

Who trembles as if

In an appalling malady

When views such an

Exquisitely beautiful profile

For he makes me bear

The extremity of dire mishap

Of pale uncertainty that is

At once pleasurable and disturbing

Who, who can teach me a direction

Such as would map the constellation

Of his beauty and have the words to say

That which in communication would

Leave a bond between us so powerful

That perhaps tender lip of parting breath

Could touch and move endlessly

Through a spiced moonlit night

Who, oh who can give me such translation

Please speak

i have seen a brown tardis

sitting on the rooftop

now a green one

red and purple lipsticks

walk hand in hand along the boulevard

unaware of what lurks atop the roofs

and in each dwelling lives a cat

called rudimental fish tails

who ask themselves

what did the Berlin orchestra do

during the war

walk on broken water
where there is a sweetness
of myopic moments
crunched in the palms
of your hands
organised and agonized
in secret loneliness
perhaps better to be gone
than remain here
a redundant conclusion
defined by a strange
relief of paragraphs
merciless in their pursuit
of an entitlement
to be heard
in aggressive palpitations
of resisted dematerialization
of sounds

Between walls in slattered light
The moment of him
Makes me moan
Slices of meat in cotton sheets
Our teenage need is eaten

At fifteen I feel barricades

Under my feet

Erected in some

Despicable deceit



Yet I trod them down

And know my own defeat

Like those who wander

In their own conceit

Words like thoughts stagger in my mind
A whirlpool and ask what can be revealed
In such a swirling displacement
The information of destruction
Proclaiming  a dark cobalt sky of dissolution
That commands and causes the chaos of despondency
Now there is a compunction of inexplicable attitudes
That vie with themselves to have a consequence
Of what is not nor never made clear
It is like truth or lies untold
It is sad like something profound unsaid….

a yellow leaved flower
with a black mustache
and a very peculiar hat
well perhaps no to the flower
for it is after all on its head
then again the yellow leaved flower
may find the hat funny and well, most peculiar
and thus sports it in defiance of convention
for yellow leaved flowers it seems
are by law forbidden to wear hats
peculiar or otherwise.
how strange

Give me something lost

Something out of chaos

Not distinguished solemnities

With delicious incompetence

Of well meaning features

Both charming  and possible

No, bring me an uncertinty

At once plausible and disturbing

Such as would I discern in a puzzle

Whilst trying to find the coordinates of an allusion

A distance that evaporates in poignant lament

In a comical taste for the grotesque

That resides beyond the horizon of conceivable vision

With a more capacious understanding

Of implausible supposition

That would fragment a fake authenticity

Despite such choice by another eye

Yes, give me something out of chaos, please

What shall I speak

What caring words

Shall be the attractive

Collaboration in destruction

That will bury me in my death

What shall I speak

That will illicit ambitions

And by their presence

Renew my sorrows

What policy what stratagem

Must I employ and plead my passions

What shall I propose that has unfrequented effects

Where the eye may behold an honesty

Yes, where a charitable tongue

May offer a delightful engine off thought

To cure this unrecuring wound

Leaving speechless the voices

Of unremitting practice

Who would raise their arms in sequence

To hear what I shall speak

Words so piteously performed

Enough to swear all villainies to spotless chastity

Leaving all words to abomnibile untruths

That would shame stone angels

Yet friendly in their blind complaint

What shall I speak

That you may learn my thought

What shall I speak

*** did you hear him speak

Is it a mask

I really do not know

then *** you

I love them!!!!!

…they say there is a madness upon me….but what is such as this that would flay a tongue upon its speech and in so doing label that which is different insane……

I have become a walker
A walker between worlds
In a monotonous night of questions
Answered but not explained
****** of loneliness
On a blank page parade themselves
Providing invitations to dust
I wonder in a city of night
Trying to escape from
The threat of nothingness
A flame of living to disrobe a false life
To dispel darkness in the three realms
Here I meet a raven
In pursuit of tenebrous dreams
Whose shadow soft illusion lights
The colour of which eludes/
I question this Poe Bird
But the Raven keeps its tongue
In Quiet seclusion
While it weaves non color
Into a an iridescent arch
A black rainbow that now has
The purchase of my vision
Makes colors flee in terror
Leaving me despondent
And devoid of proper thought

I wonder if the sky gets sad

Its common purpose

A different herald

Floating like an un-forgiveness

Its clouds, its clouds, its clouds

Waifs in white clothing

…what visions before my eyes do materialize…whereas they are invoked by a small white pill I do believe….they shimmer and dance like candle flames at night…throwing shadows upon the walls…strange shadows…dancing shadows…shadows of the mind…shadows who pose no questions and make only judgments upon themselves…shadows of tomorrow that are shadows of today who were once the shadows of yesterday….a poem is born…..

Creator of recollections, maker of memories

Possessor of impulse, giver of echo

That rings in the ear, the sound of song

Of dance that rents my solitude my silence

Which is slashed like a canvass screen

Happiness pours forth unconfined

Unfettered,  I extinguish my light

Clasp my illuminations and dream

the words lie about
small pieces of crystallized thought
communicating by sympathetic tangents
like the speech of the wind
attempting to mediate in white light
at the edge of an emaciated desert
their invading pressure threatening
to drive me out of consciousness
into a whisper
that darts along a tongue
the intimate recreation
of the speed and space of thought
energizing a concentrated existence
forcing me into uncompromising solitude

The fury of time engulfs me
Gazing once more on its unabstracted velocity
Realize that time has no objective or subjective realization
Unexpectantly there is a shift of air that breezes about me
Like cool morning mist I allow it to cover me without expectation
A consequence of exuberation possesses my being
Like that of a vanquished dream
I crave its succulent softness
It surrounds me and hovers
Its pulse evaporating in my mind
Then in ecstatic euphoria pearlesque ribbons hit the wall
Melt on my hand dripping like silken spangles
Filling my room with antiquated resolution

all have deserted me

i am now a singularity

in a vast universe

of multiple calculations

whose flesh in punctuated breaths

speaks to a vast arraignment of eyes

whose vicarious vexatiousness

lends for vicious testimony

that would trickle from so many mouths

and make a trespass upon the truth

in treasonous tongues of false supplication

where my hand is given to sable shadows

dark, dusky specters who walk with me

show guidance in the motives of the artifice

in absolute truth

for there is no such thing

I have surrendered to ungovernable impulses

That within my very existence invokes a great addiction

Oppresses noise and forms an intoxication of contradictions

They caress me with impetuous charms of dazzling vision

With vast silences that mitigate in sonorous symbolism

Exiled in my own reality, I see what I have never seen

Or only thought I saw I am now condemned

To see what has never been seen

A shimmering like the painting of a whisper

I listen to the absence of time
Allow myself to become wrapped in its nothingness
It is a punctuated absence, like light through dust,
Showing all my imperfections deep emotions and real desires
My thoughts parade before me a regiment of vagabonds
I view all this as if I had never existed
Desperately searching through my boiling memory
For something that may prove my existence
I find nothing

Now my mind is heavy with expectation
Laden with an atmosphere of flawless irregularities
Strangely I feel a dreadful sorrow
I know I have always had desperation with life
A black rainbow in the sky that has the purchase on my vision
But the distain of silence nevertheless echoes weird
With destabilising compensations
My own splintered voice reverberating in my head
Presents a clarity of particular insanity
Now I realise for the first time
I have kept my secrets even from myself
So now when I reach out to find Me
I can’t, it’s too late, I've already gone

There is a madness about me

With ungovernable impluses

That borrow my tormented mind

It is aflame a conflagration

Burning more intensely than the sun

Consumed by unlimited time and space

An imposed barrier of perception vanishes

Gives way, gives way, my god gives way

To the cause of violating the imagination

One that does not recede but flows, flows

more powerful due to such defiable infringement

Flames of excitement entice me toward

A trajectory that swings out over the void

My god I see him, see him, see him

Sitting smiling, smoking a pipe

Jean-Nicolas-Arthur Rimbaud

Vanish, vanish, now all is gone, disappeared

Perhaps later, yes later, perhaps

looking for a road
a beach road
with an awareness of
frozen vision
that appears shocked
that the world is
in ruins
a vision that interprets
disintegration
as an introduction
to temporal vestige
as the road to
another dimension
a beach road
that leaves one
drowning, drowning
in ones own breath

A boulevard where vagabonds swim
Is lined with Thracian women weeping
Swaying gently in the wind
With portraits of headless young men
Suspended on String, they are
In pursuit of tenebrous dreams
Whose shadow soft illusion lights
Yet the colour of black eludes
Amidst the debris of this magic and mystic charm
Forging hidden truths leaving light and darkness
In appeal to unreasoned thought that splinter sound
Leaving only tarnished echo floating effortlessly in tragic space
Notions negotiate and migrate in terrible turmoil
Not able to understand chaos corrodes
Human rust that eats the soul
With gnawing knowledge of emptiness
Creates a vacuum in the heart
That leaves cold the heat of happiness
Proclaiming despair its God
Points an accusing finger and brands us unclean
Impure, none persons, where is the colour of black

Its rhythmic charade ticking, ticking, ticking perturbs me a great deal
It is trying to force on me a sense of living within and not outside its boundaries, making me feel trapped
I shift my legs slightly and my shorts rise up clinging to the tops of my thighs in disordered precision
I throw the duvet back and observe, without seeing it the discourse of history in my blood
I hear it; feel its silent speech, its frantic rush, and its inner dialogue like a hidden undercurrent coursing through all my veins.
The inner space of speech, the redundence of images a sympathetic attunement to the dimensions of words that are the medium of my new translation.
A new complete language, now, for the first time accompanies my thoughts.

A morbid bridge

Upon me draws

A blackness

Which lays waste

The perfect

Heavenly Harmony

Of Those Spheres

That are now

Made inaudible

By the corruption

Of this life

Nighttime..fear and envy

The owl has a knife

His eyes are green

Photos in birch bark frames

Cinnamon scented candles

My first thesaurus

Tin soldiers made of chocolate

A jar of cheap face cream

The mad king and the Doctor

And a beleaguered embodiment

Of crawling chronicled chaos

I wish to see the mountains
but they disagree with me
the sea it cries
its tears unseen
there are coloured winds that sparkle
and flay a million reposotic waves
who on call
dilate to a lacerating urgency
of anarchic, elliptical rebirth
supported by nothing
again and again and again
I wish to see……………………

The earth shall embalm me

Trees will set root in my belly

And make sap of my blood

There will be vagrancy in my soul

Its embarkation on an erratic itinerary

Leaving behind a tainted and squalid reality

I shall mix with black and white silences

Those that migrate in the oppressed contradictions of dreams

It is here I shall succumb to violent wrenches of my imagination

It is here that I shall be beneath an impetuous but charming moon

Smiling

there is a feeling
one of exclusivity
that suggests
a solitary reconnaissance
of self orientated purposes
moods reflectively animated
in individual focus
in order to infiltrate
a non sharing experience
but the feeling abruptly stops
it is a synchronized cyber wound
it is the assassination
of the distant and complex
terminals of my mind
i am irretrievably shocked
there are no survivors

What tormenting love

What estrangement

Does mount a strenuous protest

In imagined transformations

That hover over this cast

This appalling malady

Enmeshed in a humiliation of confusion

That does give a loving dispensation

And by mericulous tongue

Restores a beauty to sceptical wonder

That comes into this world hand in hand

With love, not one before the other

You lead me to insanity

As such as I go towards the doors of Bedlam

It is with a happy heart

For to me you are all the charm of invited places

Who sees us, yes sees us

Trembling in our rages

Knows of fatal qualities

Who with the perfection of form

Allows us to follow your visions

of improbable desertions

Towards words on an empty page

With emmence calculations of emulation

Enables  our pale impatience

Whose claims those choirs of impotance

Forge creative impulses with infernal probity

That calls for the application of oppoerunity

Like you, whose arrival of always

Will be everywhere

The lime trees are heavy with the glitter of wind

Words like a host of flies buzz inside my mouth

A fire roars in my head an apocalyptic holocaust

My sentences articulate themselves

Like an ****** bruise on a boys neck

Appearing with a rapacious and concentrated existence

Forcing me into an uncompromising solitude

A concealment like the sitting of a stone in its own shadow

I am on the other side of time where transient moments

Imprint themselves on other people’s minds

Forming and colliding in immense fictions

But there is also a sustained silence

Within the speed and space of thought

That holds the creature of my metaphysical anguish

The green fairy occupies my mouth as if in a dream

Senses surge past me in waves

Of perfect silence that torture the mind

I raise my eyes like a drawbridge

Getting ready for the fleet whose

Noise deafens the colour of my

Pupils

Overwhelmed the sky clasps

Me in a study and struggles to

Kiss my green lips

Aglow with blue beams its perfumed sun

Smiles and stretches me in the

Silk of the seas, where fish speak

With stars in feminine voices and

Ask my name

Floating in bliss I can not recall it

Only the selected elegance of History

Comes to mind