oh how

I consist

of this.

Oasis in the vast wasteland,
inhabited by ungrace.
Walked a hundred miles,
my hope is finally here.
But alas, you were no oasis.
You are but grains of sand,
a sack of it like the many.
I have passed supposed oasis
but am always fooled
by my everyday delusions.
I will never taste your sweet waters
you, my coconuts of my dreams,
wasting though as a sultan
in your very oasis of my dreams
that I am now dreaming of
and might keep on dreaming.
You are like the many oases
the pictures of mere delusions
in my mind scrapbook.
You are one of the dozens,
the suspects of my insanity
whose cure yet unfound.

not i




                               ,







                                                                         Turn this lift
                                                               upon its shoulder
                                              into up making music of
                                        neck:


sinew febrile alive with dancing electric sometimes sound of mouth; and
  by how of fingers alight with such ungrace to hurt is a beautiful poem
   faster than light is quick through the blinds cut into a trillion thinness
    of glowing dust–

                                          (it can barely to feel)

                                                         the
                                                  stroking
                                                boy sigh of
                                              tonguefully
                                             aware thighs.

                
                                                                        flah ton decarb
                                                                     by girl cheek of
                                                             inching into seams,
                                                           pollen thickly sealed.

(a rose of night and sword of day;
with which vein'd marvels play –    )

tumbling trill and awake with sight:
to see where dark and skein are tight )


                                                  –––––––––––––––––––––––

a not caving self of into daring stem
******,


                                                                    burnt
                                                                         ,

                                                                           reeling


                                                                                                                  and said .

The moon is bigger on the dark side,
But I'm moved by the waves of the bright side.
I hide, but I always know
What is it the I hide,
So what's the point?

Inside my missing spaces
I find my own pieces,
In what empty space I fill me,
If I'm defined by my emptiness?

How do I define me with words
Hollow as a flight in space,
Precise and distant definitions,
Incapable of adjusting to a vague chaos,
Only understandable by the light of a microscope,
Unaccessible to signs,
Dissonant of what I feel,
Of a laughable ungrace?

I run from what defines me,
From my sentimental proofs,
I locate myself in what takes me far from home.

I'm uncapable of recognizing me
For I look in the mirror, and I recognize myself:
I know I never had blue eyes,
I know how my hair was, and how it's not anymore,
I know healed wounds hurt more.

I've lived for 500.000 kilometers
Never counted the travels around my world,
But I keep going,
Map and territory,
Language and message,
Thoughts and actions,
Sailing through matter and frequency
Through the ocean that keeps me apart from the world.