"
"nor is this a fact," nor is my syntax the 'true.'
i can't use quotations in the way i'd like to,
to allow the paradoxical to seep through
in the sly act of revising 'this' honestly--
merging truth with falsity, to silently see--
grammar become a means to shatter certitude

"i can't tell the 'truth' with these ["i can't tell the 'truth'
with these{...} very words"] very words"; i really can't...
it's somewhat unfair to communicants, this rant.
let me bolster your trust by not telling it slant:
in fact, it's not poetry, not from this angle.
maybe when you read, this 'this' will be poetic?
meh, i'm relying on telling, not showing. so...
quiet's often better than such entanglement

but this is not about value, it's about truth.
sincerely, i doubt i'll keep those two separate

perhaps... if you pretend i'm a prolix parrot,
who happened through some acosmic accident
to be the transmigrated daimon-soul of Sappho,
or Hypatia, Gertrude Stein or Plath even...
(yeah, i'm like a Cretan for going on): they weren't,
'your gobbledygoo,' or 'Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.'
stripped bare at the Caesareum, being murdered
for the crime of godlessness or female wisdom
spoken in the scapegoat-hungry rule of Rome...
this is not what they were, not the whole truth, at all
and though from winds of ****** she spoke in verse
that her vast poetic fame 'was no delusion:'
and that, 'dead, I won't be forgotten,' i fail,
painfully fail, to trace into a verbal womb
the seeds of those that transformed all, yet now entombed...
for to remember them in me is to revise,
reduce, sadly in that poetic untruth found...

"this" is a gestalt, i guess i'll have to say,
a "figure-ground," a floating 'shape' in some context,
one that you embody too, somehow, not in text;
even through a distant sharing, it's realized
(hold onto the random metaphors you find,
they're probably better than what's in my mind)
and to share this with you now, to hypocritize,
it's lunacy. i mean, the moon, the poetic moon
is not a meme, is not a custom, is not a poetic fact,
in fact, it's not in this poem, and if it were--
being televised with some authentic ontic pixel-space--
here between the lines augmented mOOn for you
it would prove how unpoetic the poem is, and how
very true the moon is, if it were here, right quoteunquote"here"
ineffably punctuated
            -- well, let me try
and fail again to make Erasmus proud:
the quotes would hang about romantic beams
parentheses to echo adjectival spectra streams,
an underscore horizonal and asterisks for stars.
but not these * asterisks,
or those_types of underscores--
better (parentheses) and far more "quothy" "quotes"--
the punctuation would literally ^punctuate^ the sky of my text.
time would stop.                                                            ­                   and that would be poetic.
you don't need to breathe, even; not this 'you,' in this moment
(the one i've failed to capture):
'i will put you on the moon' i say,
'and sit you buoyant by the buddha-astronaut, who,
in answer to the question sprinkles moondust in slow motion,
symbol-guiding realness, my "finger" for solution,
to present to you again, what is present to me now.
the Russian names, the rest of names, the 'face' some say cries, "sweetly,"
as if we could use the moon's sympathy,
or as if we should feel it for the white rock that elliptically defines us,
dances to our rhythm, (the tides, the ****** huntress)
the one that taught us to dance,
the one that taught us to yearn darkly in surreal eclipse
more hopefully for the chance of cataclysmic doom
some Greeks thought it was a disco ball, after enough *****, that Dionysian night,
some Greeks thought it was a disc,
like a coin that flipped just right
to match it's dance about our pearoid earth
in synchrony's anachronistic mirth.
i would lick each Bacchant clean to learn the mysteries of poem
i would lick each Bacchant clean. period. no music or noema known
this 'poem' is not a "poem"
in a very real sense
i did not make this,
nor did i compose or create it.
if you're not following it's ok, i'm barely there myself -- i'm trying to refer to...
the elliptical shape that certain publishers use
to refer to fundierung
the double-founding,
reversibility,
the flesh of passive
the flesh of active
enfleshed perceiving
the common meaning we contribute
but can't attribute to any source we express!
(however distorted) after the fact, yes! --
either all that, or the meaning you get from "this" act
doubly-enfolded, with two pairs of hands kneading the same dough,
two pairs of eyes weaving the same lOOm,
another Indra's net to sew,
in meaning you give now,
the techne of your reader's mind
and the meaning i'd wish to know,
if i were still writing what you are reading,
doing my best to ignore the title
and to write something worthwhile...

i do wish i could show it to you the way i love it in your own poetry,
but you would know that, already, without my love

without my unpoetic lack of facts, my rhymes.
free of poems, free to flout the literary sea.
free to be unwordly, and let the contradictions fly
"

My body is screaming
Like never before
Every part of me longs for her
Her body pressed against mine

She would always be so warm
As our hearts flow into one another
So aware of each other
It's such a perfect scene

My arms around her waist
Hers around my neck
Her hair all I can see
All I care about seeing

Then I pull away for a second
To get a glimps of her beautiful
Eyes
Nose
Mouth
The perfection that is her

And I am overcome with passion
I desire her on a such an
Unwordly level
And the moment we share
Is the best way to capture our
Intertwining souls

I love her so much
And pull her tight again
To bury my head into her shoulder
To burn this moment into my mind

But it's been too long
Two weeks is practically eternity
When you want to live that every second
My body needs to feel her
To fill the empty molds in my arms

I have never loved so much
Felt so comfortable in another's arms
But I've never been so impatient
So lost
Is this what it's like
To miss someone?

Two strangers looking at each others’ eyes
No words speaking, hearing the sound of their hearts
Urging to talk for awhile, but suddenly they hold back
Afraid to show their feelings, afraid of what's inside

Step...and they walk, strolling along the way
Making their distance closer, feeling each other's phase
Smiles in their faces as they look upon their way
No thoughts around their corners, trying to make it it's their day

Sitting down along the bench, with spaces between them
They look to each other and they hold back again
Hesitant to say a word, reluctant to start a conversation
Silence is just between them, though they do have same intention

"Hey", said the other, "Hi", said the other one
Then silence back to each other as both them turn their heads down
The first one look to the next person and there's that shine in their eyes
Then there they start now talking to each other, they now finally break down the ice

Smiles to laughters, from words to talks
Their heartbeat is the music behind their unwordly souls
Humming to singing, they're now finally in their hands
They just don't want to stop any beginnings, they don't want to stop any lines

Seconds to minutes, minutes to hours
Noon sets to twilight, as the twilight becomes dark
They never notice the time, they just enjoying hanging out
There is this feeling of happiness, but it's not in their hearts

Then it's time to go home, it's time to put things to rest
It's time to think and realize that they are just never meant
It's time to go home now, there are no more things to try
Just forget that single moment, it's time for a sweet goodbye

They never lost each other, there wasn't a thing called love
They just let go of each other, they never lost what they never had
It must have been something, but they just let it gone away
'Cause one of them is still loving the past, and the other is loving in vain.

It's worth all the waiting, it's worth all the pain
It's worth all the tragedy 'cause it led me to your way
It's worth all the heartaches that killed me inside
I found my self reborn when you stayed right by my side

I thought we won't make it for tomorrow but look where we're now
You've shed light on my sorrows and saved the pieces of me somehow
You brought new perspective of how I look about my life
And I found my self looking at you and every who I am is now enough

You've never asked me to change, you just wanted who all I am
You've never asked me to be someone else, you just let me to be the same
You've chose to love me, the whole I am without asking me in return
I don't know what you've found in me but I'm grateful that I have you for my own

Thank you for every who you are and for all you've imparted to me
Thank you for my simple life has turned to be amazing with thee
Thank you for the crazy moments, for laughters and even for unwordly times
We can use different words on how we are feeling but only you can make it rhyme

There is no need to tell anyone, we don't have to tell the world
Because we have what cannot be touched by anyone, sometimes cannot be described by words
And we cannot pleased everyone that all we have is real
'Cause this feeling is supernatural and every moment with you is surreal

I will treasure every inch of you, I will memorize the sound of your voice
Of how you whisper to my ear that you'll be always here even on the worst
You and your love is evidently enough to lift me up above the sky
We will face anything with our hands together and every memories will be you and I.

First -
I was dreaming of an earth
on a unwordly place,
so far, far away,
somewhere in this endless star space
With my eyes half-open and
a soul far from so called "grace",
but rather living with a hex.
My body was covered with
armor of a molten mace,
And in my hand I was holding a silver axe
Crimson wax I had on my face,
Thought, I have killed a whole ******* race
But it must have been a mirage or
my mind washed my memory away.
Dunno what else I should say...

Second -
I was there -
in a middle of a golden meadow,
with dress made of silver silk,
so long that almost it reached my bare feet.
I was early in my twenty of years old,
What would've think my pagan gods
about being so reckless and so lost,
unless they've made me believe in this?
It must have been in the middle of the night,
On a silver full-moon.
Gone girl
Alone, in the dark,
who was walking amongst the fields,
waking up the demons who have been left to sleep
putting to sleep the angels who have been hidden
behind the nearly golden trees
Was singing about magical places,
calling out for the fairies to come back,
calling the bears to wake up,
waiting for the wolves to show up...
Lit a fire for them and for me,
put my gown on the greeny ground
and laid down
Thought still I was an innocent girl
But the one who has denied to be the only one
who could've saved godless faces  who sold her
In exchange of their filthy miserable lives.
But where are they now?
They ended up drowning in the burning waves of chaos.

Third -
It must have been so long time ago
when I was a queen of the Muldorogk
With a kingdom and a beautiful land
created by those whose faith & power
reached levels far beyond and distant
to those of the human, unimaginable mind.
I ruled and I served as one goddess to another ones,
Living in peace and in wars  
My people were a fighters,
a true warriors I would say,
they chose me to lead them through
the stone sun just to reach out the brightest moon...

I see you on a wall
By a mill pond.
Little Philemon
An unearthly turquoise
Stills us.
Stops and
Holds us.

The maths of the moment,
A trickster tune,
Beguiles us.
A quadrangled pool
You dive 4 times
We are 4.

We leave.
You too, Fisher king.
Some unwordly
Concept passes between us
A square noted scribble.
A mystery message .