I'm learning
the senseless circles
along the pathway
to tranquility,
but I divert myself
and go knee deep
into the dripping hips
just because they are
much lest threatening.

I like to think everything is safe,
but then there is all this fire.

As the universe collapses
there will be no room
left for loneliness.
In the meantime,
all I want
is enough adoration
so that I will never suffer,
or, at least I can be happy
as long as everyone suffers
just a little more than me.

You see, I learned too many secrets.
Then, I told too many lies.
I abandoned beauty
before it could abandon me.
So, I just went ahead and shot Venus
right out of the sky,
and that of course
wasn't helpful to anybody.

I hear wounded music
accompanying a limping dance,
so I hunt the moon
when it’s low on the horizon
because that’s where it is vulnerable
but still so succulent and auspicious.

Come and know me.
I am going to a far off place-
two moons, twenty whales
with suffering celestial eyes,
seven black-headed snakes,
three dark women, and one house.

It will be difficult
for us all
when I return,
because then the salvation
will appear as the suffering.

Senseless words
stretching towards reunion.

When did I become
a brilliant devotee?
The crucible of my heart crackled
and destroyed self-consciousness,
so I performed in the square
and the people walked away disoriented,
mumbling to themselves about love.

I am still suffering,
and the moon is still full.

Though appearing timid
like the twitch of the field rodents
my life is greater than the sky
because I know the sky
beyond its mighty heights
beyond out into the void
and all evidence suggests
the sky does not know me
and it does not know me
beyond out into the void
because there is no void
the ends of my existence
are well occupied
because I love you.

Only a few hours left
to better catalog
all of my perversities.

Look at my face and
you can't help but notice
my captivating eyes.

Their refinement was well crafted
after many poundings of my head
against the stone wall of lust.

Now I am truly suffering,
so I must be surrounded by love.

Come watch my master craft
in the mechanics of possession,
my spellbinding skills
in trapping beauties
that decay rapidly
at the moment of their glory.

Today is no less beautiful
than the most glorious
days of the earth,
but I am still doubtful
that I will survive it.

Stupid of me to think I have agency
when I open my mouth
seeing as my tongue is always
otherwise instructed.
A sonnet of ****** passion
or a sestina of natural splendor
would really aid me most,
but the obnoxious curtness and terror
of our true vision is all my tongue
will abide. I sing, briefly,
about death and love,
because love is here,
and death is coming.

Aggression holds my attention
like watching our slow roll
forward into doom.

Evil is a man's business,
and right now,
business is real good.
Even history cannot harbor
the infidels
who make civilization sublime.

Our suffering is a thick liquid
that saturates our scalps,
but wait long enough,
and we will see something beautiful,
like compassion between two bodies,
or death unmasked as eternity.

I hide behind a great stone
hoping that the adoration
that my beloveds wish
to shower upon me
will be forgotten and neglected.

It is terrifying the manner
in which such sincere love
will purify me into anonymity,
just the same way tranquility
always threatens to do.

Now you are here,
it is you who will see the moon.
I'll walk along this road
at the height of the month
with the sun setting and
the full moon rising,
and you are the one
who does not need to care,
and I am the one
who will love you and
help you see the sun and the moon
until I crawl into my grave.

I’ve become convinced
that love is here
to ensure that I’ll die.

Geese flying at night
dissect my doubt with
their confident squawks,
and disperse my torpor
with the rushed rustle
of their white underbellies.

There is only one adventure,
and it takes place inside your body.