Tango de la Materia, No. 66, Epitome No. 6

Monologues of stimuli

Spun circular logic

In the allosensus of a full risen morning’s mirror

(The inerasable difference/tout autre)

Of thy self exhuming reflection

Pouring through routine bodily motions

As if they were a tiresome chore

That if only the (concept/digital imagery)

Could erase the difference

Then perhaps our eyes would droop no more

Having sunken fully into our skulls

Into our souls’ computer screens

A minimalistic rise

Expansion of the self upon the self

As rather than groping far and wide

Sweet songbird soliloquizing in the cave of efficiency

(On-line) a conversation

Prophetic digital resonance

Though (in-sanity) still difference

The articulation of digital space

Wherein we can sense the hidden layers’ other

In calculated text of pure and emoticons

The informational gesticulation of the intellect

Upon a body of computer language

That we must be sure not to squint in order to see

As the concept of an (axiom/isolated end)

A singularity rationale

Is the purest doubt incarnate

Even in a binary logic

So long as we cannot read the code

So long as we haven’t deciphered the algorithm

Of the machine of other

Staring out the mirror into thy mad memories

The gross product of reality

A congealed melt of naked wax

Porous in the mourning humidity

And draining thy soul to wash thy face

And you love you came to see

How in crepuscular sleep

I’d left my dreams upon the vanity

And how the dreary church bells

Bellow out in vain

Upon the enterprise architecture

Of foregone industry

As though essence remains material

The Catolic soul of the matter

My livelihood is merely a concept

Of which I cling to only desperately

No more is thy career a valued possession

It is rather a digital body

Electric vein

Singing out to all her patrons

In a replication of some historic atmosphere

For a dash of authenticity

As the postmodern is carte blanche

And her conceptual intonations

Left her soul wailing empty

I had a daydream

That my lover of the other nature

Had clear and disappeared before me

Shopping for her vanity

A seed of contextual isolation

And in the years that followed

It was sleeping evermore

’Til one night conception

She came in sleeping life

And shook me woken from the concept insanity

Midwife to the digitized unconscious

To find that she had soundly quite

Evaporated

Thank you for understanding my love

As love is there only

She said she could never be happy

It was all in the machinery of her head

Though I took this to be just a ruse to morality

Perhaps happiness is merely a concept

All in the machinery of your idolatry

In dreams begin responsibilities

Conduct your blooming in the noise and whip of the whirlwind

The chaotic stale air

Of comp controlled (transportation/transformation)

A digital palette of transaction

Why would this empty space

Precipitate the matter?

Why would the concept be less than real?

My head was somewhere else

These many many hours

Lost in her machinery

She had taken me in binary ambiguity

With a lightly covering material

To conceive an allosensual conversation

Then who is she anyway?

Did she (lose/loose) my mind upon the internet?

The digitization of the lifeworld

A conceptual collective (consciousness/unconscious)

Humanity taken out of context in stark repetition

So that we may wash our faces

In the pages of an idealized book

Measuring our sanity

Wild stars aligned

A vicarious purging e-verified

Though all of this is only for the publicity

As in my heart well atrophied

A real swell begs thee come back

Please don’t leave me to burn

Electric in (vanity/sanity)

I am a mere light heart

Beneath a vast too wary surf

And the world is full of cowardice

Misbegotten humility

Tragedy it is a successful pattern of life

At least in binary

Love dear love you are a glitch

Even the codemasters couldn’t read

Cardinal blossom glorious abstract

I’ve sensed the philosopher’s stone

Where the hips arch the back

And in a Catolic prescription

The devil will free thy mind

As the conceptual soul in digital enact

The heart of the matter no more the lack

Than truth in the grass

Like snakes in the brush

And we are all ghosts the latter

Biting the lust

Tango de la soul de la materia de la

Avec toute mon affection

Tango de la Materia, No. 65

Fanciful distractions

Fill my senses

With a summer glaze

(Meditating/mediating) demands

The shallow arches

Of philosophical concession

Allowing conversations to breathe

Their own private air

As if the words spoken

Were sealed in the timely grace

Of context

Irrevocable though never to be traced

On processions of memory imperfect

The storm whipped the color wheel

Down the avenue

We embraced

In monotones

Tango de la Materia, No. 64

Spontaneous phenomena a freeform installation

(Waving/wavering) neon auras of archway flashes graffiti light rain

In jaded tingling spine dripping blossom sunset bright

Fluorescent yellow warmth and white magnolia breeze

Black film flapping in the wind

The darker rain is coming in it bellows like the Western clouds

It streaks the imaging closed the barely spiral gates

It's losing me but I'm sharp in cappuccino mist

We're stately like the avant garde of sober all the ontological reprieves

Are dreams of ghostly lonesome grate I must be sleeping

There's nothing happening just fate and pins and needles in our floating feet

The world is but a painting on constant display

And if only we could keep our (in-decision) tension straight

Tango de la Materia, No. 63

There’s scarlet branches

In the fighting grass

In world’s tiered of roots

Twisting from treetops

The vines seeking shelter

From such stark semblance

Of childhood

The (o’ercast/European) weather

All is fallen

When thy take a drink of life

Aqua vitae

Laska moya

Ramandolo

A golden grape

Dried in the winter sun

The early spring snow

The gravity

The angels that lie in their thrones

Being thrown

And the angel that listens to thee

That muses thy lines to song

And symbiosis

In deliverance

Synecdoche

Cannot quite see through worlds’

Though speak the tongue

So then reel it in

’Til to last nothing’s even

Been said at all

Tango de la Materia, No. 62

The crosses evergreen

Barely sway

Against lavender night overcast

Messengered birds

The blackbirds of absent moons

La cruz negra

Smoldering cigarillos

In the silent compositional space

The silent enrichment of love aged like wine

In some foreign cellar

Now just bitter

Just dry enough

To give taste

To savor the gentle sweetness

So sudden to come on

The vistas open like the heavens’ canopy

Like the love we harbor home

The crosses’ treetop silent swans

In utterance the Godly tome

Tango de la Materia, No. 61

Only those who suffer

Can conquer themselves

Like the white evening

When it illuminates

Each fleshing of dust

Mirrors’ (partial/

Partial) existence

The delicacies of concept’

Collective ambrosia

A moments’ silence

Threatening allowance

The soliloquy hath sung

At last eternal quiet

Resounds

Liberation but brief

A short span

And strange suns aligned

Swaying now proof

Not in the moment

Eavesdropping

The enclosure

To retrace the belief

That must not exist

The other side the mirrors’

Tango de la Materia, No. 60

We discuss beauty

In form wash

Of nihilist heat

The request for admission

Of nothing

A solipsistic retreat

Reservation of an nihilist eve

The winter water

Bites at swathe of summer reef

The hills are melting

In the loss of concept

In the capitalist deceit

Life a dedication

To meet the intellect

(Our/no more) divine caveat

Need a dog even find his leash?

What (absinthe/absence) beckoning?

Tightening the sheets

We sleep a lighter tangle

And all tangled trip our feet

A step to two

A match we flew

On o’er the halo craven

Memory as vivid as the angels’

Life has been nothing of

Tango de la Materia, No. 59

If we lived another life

The world would never change

And this to be our chamber music

Our solitary atrium

The alabaster birds

Lined finials to leap from mezzanine

Repose in photographic still

This moment

Aleatory agreement

Zimné de la Bohème

What wintertide or even breeze

Or eventide reprieve

Will shackle the silence

Vested fakes of truths

In palm trees’ paradisiac combustion

A tacit tango whose eyes

Can meet in empty grace

And not to fear

Our (native/alien) tongues are laced

With sayings sooth

And sweet too true to

(Allure/à leur/a lier)

Tango de la Materia, No. 58

Strange to time lines us for moments

All the raw vibrancy flutters gone

When I come home in the rain of emotions

Blissfully discordant

The taste of God on my tongue

Might forge a rapid dissonance

If only utter the thoughts

But rather stand in good faith

On precipice distraught

For the moment to come

When the thought echoes naught

And the character stands tested time

Falling off

Tango de la Materia, No. 57

The opera of fantastic night blossoming

Reposed in words’ ballet

Sleeping on a work, an evening,

A rekindling dense contemplation

Tiresome though with much reward

Clarifying moments

Transgressing (stakes/states)

Traces in worlds’ becoming

Sublimity the uninhibited,

Indiscriminate, inundating rendering

Of multi faceted truths

A terrible diamond in monochromatic,

Monotheistic, monogamous light

Et avec les mathématiques

D’une beauté floraison

(Conceptualizing/condescending)

La présomption de potentiel

A vision fruitless fermentation

Dear (beauté/vintage) on a vine

(Passion/emportement/mathématiques) seen

The (black swan/anomaly) hiding

Waiting to be found

White suit as the (tearing/

Concealing of uncertainty)

She’s (realized/materialized) her art

And so the conductor rests

Letting go in control

Tango de la Materia, No. 56

Tell time tell

Repose in the music

That is fearful of a silent mind

What room for thought

In the (parlor/pallor)

Of happiness?

Every time the sun reposes

I feel that I am passing away

Folding into the wrinkles

Of a glass fortress

An endless bobbing calm

The skin of a moment’s edge

Waiting on a passion

To rise silent again

And breathe

In the valley

Vested curvature

Of a pregnant poise of spine

On airs of world envisioning

A drastic axe to time

Tell time

It is unfolding

My creases have left canyons

Craning their creviced necks

To hear what time is telling

Though I’ve told it manifold

Though I’ve told it circumspect

Timeless memory

A grain to grave repose

A trust to time (in-vest)

An ode trickling

Tango de la Materia, No. 55

Ever tire of passing torches to the night?

Burning long the fringes of thine image

Masquerading hushed sleep of death

Read this humid day

In eyes having met to absent prayer

A fruit ripe of its last nurture to breath

To follow sweet silent nothing

Thy holy ground

O deposition of thine emptiness

Wanting grip the magnolia scent

Off suburban rooftops

Sundried stretches of concrete

Pale the glittering beckon of profound boredom

The steady rustle of an absent wind

Cellar flower wrought to vine

Its climb to fermentation

Long the wall

The well of cellar wine

So called are drowning in the age

Just waiting for the stars align

And might speak an endless phrase

Slight too divine

That might dare to speak to Him

Tango de la Materia, No. 54, Epitome No. 6

White noise in the sunrise

A bloody nip at mañana

As chameleons in the summers’ hazy end

Smoke fine thistles

To flank the dire straits

Of their good faith lovers’

Blessed promiscuity

A reason to embark the risk

Of Magellan winds

Majestic swells and jagged

Machismo sheathing grace

Seeking an Indian ocean

Unharnessed power to embrace

A harvest of white lines

White lies of express distaste

For the demonic masks

Of thug life gait

Hooded conquistadors

Spraying bullets in the untouched brush

The talent of a Harlem River project

Scarlet petals settled in the courtyard

Rest in paradise

In cosmic memory

And long live the rose that grew from concrete

A Machiavellian truth

There’s a (dagger dragging/dragon) under the moon

A labyrinth of corporate fascism

Leading a nostalgia for the monarchy

As if the fear of sanity were to be insane

Shaking cracks in the (white lies/white lines)

The retraced figure

And skating by the hollow shells of misplaced hate

A driving force

He spun a hammer to the ground

And landed in a ballerina’s pace

Proper and seemingly motionless

A natural solitude

Like a lady

Krasavica

My intellect is enamoured

Of dark red curtains and clear glass panes

As with the working girls of Amsterdam

On the late fringes of a spliff

A dire finitude

Swaying her hips in the icy acid rain

Feckless evocations braying off her tongue

The hanging line is slain

There was nothing left to escape from

The vicious anger of daring to love

Had swelled well beyond the contingencies

Barreling a stream adrift

And the ladies flocking to their nests

Sometimes my passions leave me broken

Utter and spent

Subservient to the worldly order

A tragedy of loveless abyss

Wherein the holy spirit (evokes/drifts)

On through the cracks

A blind river sense

We feel around a shell of (solipsism/finitude)

The dark well of youth in perpetua

Fountain of a Catolic façade

To evade in some absent good faith

The demons of an existential hypocrisy

Just another soldier on a road to nowhere

As the war has long been (over/gone)

Anastasia crystalline

The glass apple is a mirror

Where the eyes of the people can be seen

Stealing the show

’Til some angel dancing on the courts

Entices the martial solemnity

To ease into the theater

We are spritely masks of an evening harbor

Having ridden the brightest swells

We approach an empty night

And live our days in epitome

Perpetual despite

And never far from starving

An imagistic élégance

The canvas of the transience

Riding walls as we well please

The world as such is tabula rasa

A dance project how quite perpetual

Dasein’s collective choreography

The everyday

A white canvas of Bohemian memories

Without a trace of recognition

Escape artists

In freestyle to the rhythm of the heat

Yet empty of a speech

Chameleons in the mirrors

Of material deposition

Passions in our souls

And we are nothing more

God save the Queen

Mañana

Salud pesetas y amor

Y tiempo para gozarlos

Apasionado y en el amor

Y amor y amor y amor

Eternity

If I am not burning inspiration

Then what is all my sin expiring for?

Tango de la Materia, No. 53

To lick thy lips

In the midst of a puff

So sound

Inhalation of a cherry dusk

A dusky red

In evening condense

My awareness to silence

As things tend cling

Only the lightest touch

Kisses to the sunrise

Skating rivers’ image

In epic breath streaming

The battery (večer/vector infinity)

Distant ease of craned interest

And still skating by the concept

Vicarious assimilation of life

Lingering ephemeral

Thine eyes reflect my self obsession

My awkward silent hues

A forced epitome for structures’ sake

Evoked in concept ghosts of dreams

Shrieking underground

And losing sense of delineated time

To abandon (her/sense/time)

Is the commission of suicide

I’ve no reason to believe

But enjoy the life of night

Its ringing

And ringing

Tango de la Materia, No. 52

Predator without

Whose prey pray so full of nothing

Sweet airy nothing to feast

Thy favorite dish

Thy mean entrée

As the orchids of love

Hath called for rain

Perfect silence retrospect

When crevices congeal with ice

To make stakes in distance

Feel like nothing

Raptors having escaped themselves in trinity waltz

Dive climbing rise of gust of wind

Answer in flight collide and parlay

Those dear leaves of prey

Parting partnering ways on other whims

À nous la liberté

Nič whether lock or trim

Tango de la Materia, No. 51

Unholy visit

Abstain thy suicide

Else take me with thee

Can feel thy stabbing

Less regard

Paralysis

Hath woken sunken eyes

Witness disembowelment

At autopsy quite alive

Psyche stranger behind

Sinister muffles

Good mourning

Good morning

Basking in her silence

Deepest radiant joy

Sublime enough to close thine eyes

Indifferent

Awaken from thy slumber

Thy (dreaming atrophy/

Machination of mind)

Laughing as we come

Out preconception

Born to peaceful dye

Having died a thousand times

Toward chainlink vortex

Myriad thy mire

Prey to predator thy was

As at noose thy sleeping fire

Tango de la Materia, No. 50

Base murmuring

I must be alone to think

Is this a redundancy?

Angel of concept

Evoked from the machine

A third person moment

Pure memory

I want bear witness

A woman that shivers

That ventures in sanity

A shivering but free

And not why then this cold mosaic

Only tingles chords to fear

Insanity

Where is my woman

Seduces the machination

Of concept?

The stone truth

A concept veiled in deceit

I want that which hums

An iridescent pleasure

Vexing existence

If veil thy blanket

Was so warmly shivering

I could barely touch

Then I know only to disappear

Free spirit in the memory

I wrote her away

And she disappeared before me

Clear as a bell

Sharp as a whistle

As her clarity bore

A veil of emotion

So deeper and deeper

We are longing to come

Tango de la Materia, No. 49

Bathing adrenaline tingles

Curving arches of the spine

At twilight daze curtails

A sleeping want of air

Through passage onward dusk

A chemistry thus paralyzed

Our motions’ ballerina spin

Chills the rugged Brooklyn piers

Their density enriched

At waiting home aromas

A la carte the trim

We’ve dilapidated shear

The bottom of the well

Too calm

And then how surely do we swim

And so surely whip our fears

An embroidered shivering

Tango de la Materia, No. 48

A gentle opening (relayed/belayed)

In petting confessionals

Of flirtations with deadly (ambience/ambiance)

A weight (upon/uplifted)

Bourgeoisie (atrophy/entropy)

(Voyeur/voyeur) doth (see/seek)

Through windows of Psyche

The goddess fake of love

As she hides in (soul/sole)

Meditating to (enlighten heaven/

Lighten death) and ripen thee

Sweet orange bathing blithe

Tango de la Materia, No. 47

Moments tender

In heavy (moments/momentum)

Anticipating the grounding

Steal our rise away

Though the atrium sun spotted

Perpetual concert in jest

Has seen itself dotting

The abstract dismissal

Clinging some primordial simplicity

So stretches the analytical chimes

So stretches the defensive silence

So silent the resounding disguise

We huddle in our ambiguities

Unsure of when of where

Even then of how to fly

And as while ripe in heavy mind

We remember a Russian migrant tide

We still set

In Eastern twill leave of light

God blessed

In captivated despite the sighing

Tango de la Materia, No. 46

In (listless/lightless) gaze

Do remember what is breath

Of grace too shy too cold

Paradisiac caress

Teasing merely

Caught in stolen shame

And how to bridge the irony

Emasculated lame

Tango de la Materia, No. 45

To look thine eyes and see nothing

Lost was it?

A figment of heart’s reason

Pulsing certain osmosis

Of conceptual introversion

Inauthenticity a breeze

Though authentically impossible

So not a pawn to say

Vicarious suicide

Alleviates the thrusting

(A-sexual) dissemination

Sexes as ghosts of passions

Conversating stay

Streams of blood and mucus running on

Vast caves’ expanses its flirtation

Amorphous emporium

Tango de la Materia, No. 44

Spending moments

Spanning futures

Relishing pasts

The ruins of a home

I will always love you

Resting well

Where’s the voodoo pin

To tingling spine

A hollow carved out

A home

Nothing left

Tango de la Materia, No. 43

I can make you think I’m lying

Even if I’m not

You look sunny in the rain

You look heavy in the light

Tired like a voodoo doll

Always reaching for the farthest fruit

So why not reaching farther?

You looking past the cynics

Through as they are ghosts

And they want you to be hallucinating

Would be easier to swallow

They want you to remember

Gasping for air would be more difficult

To (recall/recoil from) the breathing

Alas they want your senses

Infused with gaping holes

Impossible to cross

(Must/much) too steadfast

And you cling to all the nonsense

A transcendental conditioning

Winning is such poor fashion

Such fierce desperation

Rather dialectic

A symmetrical gardening of thought

Caveat rebirth

We seem to’ve been bought

Tango de la Materia, No. 42, Epitome No. 5

My friend of final fantasies

We’ve been swept up in illusion

Must upkept or turn to be dissolute

And frayed

A tightrope thin wire

And that we walk comrade

The star of David ’neath an Islamic sun

Has marched a Rusnak to the factory

Život, robota

Culture sings its revolution

No more than circles ’round the skies

The weight of dredging memories

Is a crushing blaze computerized

Emancipated dreams

Wherein we can speak ourselves

A collective reference

As if we were no more than a caricature

A veneer of matriculated belief

The color of skin a chill white

Rubbing blackened circles of consistency

Beneath sulking eyes

Dank lairs of Spanish red and French brandy

We’ve chosen to copulate our senses to our sensitivities

Breed a lighter touch

As after the august storm

There was the most beautiful orange

September light

Pending a bloody October

The leaves on endless winds

To show their truest colors

Ripe in their precipitated entropy

Shades in perpetua

Just when to mark the dance

Tango de la soul

Be wary of thy fabrications

Thy mistress’ emotive alimonies

Invested in thy persona

Doth set thy noose so level mind thee

A mere catharsis of the act

The selling of the heart

To the trusted investment of a miser

Stagnant rote

As the youth hath capitulated

To the whims of flying hopes

Weak and dim far lights

Fireflies we leap for

Even catch but must let go

My friend I let her go

The creaking of a lonely Manhattan pier

Is quite like any other

Eerie in the nude of night

And from everglades

A comrade’s call

Hath summoned wraiths

That I imagine to be my own

Perched in naked spirit

A (black swan/anomaly) takes to fanciful

Flights of dire illusion

He’s left his (robe/persona) on the nocturne

And then perched in flight doth turn to stone

A gargoyle ridden to the ground

Ah the riddles of homogeny

As I’ve known a friend too well

To have taken stock in hope

Even better than a friend

Might know I know himself

I am a valley of conviction

The river flows on through me

Never ceases to give life

This hope is a memory

As like a vine doth cling to predilection

A subterfuge

The fermented betrayal of moons and moons

Brewing in the past

As when I was a fresh young talon

Ripe for sharpening

Lest affinitied to the dull edge of depth

Far too shallow to conceive its horror

And a tigress hunting aorta

(Read/inflamed) a liar

A sweet innocent abuse

A poetry of puppeteering

Of which the (empiricists/materialists)

Would metaphysically disown

As they chatted underwind

And as if the candlelight shadows

Could conceive of caring

For an objective ambiance

It was all just theater to them

A mere catharsis of the time

The lovely glow of sex

Embittered in the cracking hue of jealousy

A shortened fate

The Russian winter

Comrade!

I’ve held a shell up to your open ear

As you might listen to your blood flowing

And imagine the ocean vast

Watch it dripping in the sand

My knees have buckled in the gust

And prostrate to the past

I hold a shell of her imagining

All the lies we could have lived

And we chose like fools the truest among

To wager

A game of Russian roulette

Camaraderie is a smoking gun

To the barrel of her depth

As those who (brief/beg) against their sins

Are cowards on the harp

Far too hesitant of loving

And far too endeared of a farce

Tango de la Materia, No. 41, Epitome No. 4

Newark Bay lifts in secret

The winds of southerly

Now zephyrs of times’ past

Howling starving streams of an Eastern light

Through the farthest Western gate

Smart to breathe so deep and fast

As the waters have arisen

Battering the sills

A golden fate on Russian snowdrifts

The sadness was a nip sweeter

To journey on by train

And allow the time to marinate

A patience we once knew

At last the supper last is true

We can foresee to the horizon

A second coming post the colors’ fall

A pale face in resurrection

Why so gaunt?

Has the fast wrought so deep into the breath of intellect

Has rendered impotent?

A message sheathed in ice

For the people we once love

To melt into an imagined scant

Only the wrapped arms of dear Old Europe

Can offer celibate

The Western set Far Eastern dance so still

Alone alone he moved himself

To an offering a heartbeat

The release was as imminent

And he fell on just a moment

Preyed by candlelight sonata

As for the wind just keeps on battering

On high westerly cantata

She is flickering out an ocean

Do you see the river flowing?

The wisdom of a broken trust

Is not at all a wisdom

As it would rather scant exist

Self effacing

And the wisdom is a farce

That on counterpoint decrees it

Lost to the world outside

A river blowing howls downwind

So soft spoken in its utterance

The (air-lines) of Newark port

Scatter dreams across the world

A memory (ought/might) taste so sweet

I can (nestle/nibble) it unfurl

And the voices have ceased calling

The souls of passions lame

In the flickering material

I’ve chanced the dread too late

An aching hollow pure distilled

Alone alone at last

Had falls’ a minimal

A celebrity in white

Purring at the gate

I want a flight from Newark

Of cordial glass stairs croaking heavens’ late

A parched dismemberment

Mumbling eerie fate

Epitome concurrent

With the peaks of sunny straits

The conquistadors of enlightenment

Spiriting discreet

Travelers of the setting suns

Touching base in Siberia

Where the Far East laps

A most distant neighbor

And rises shoots up from the tundra

The brick city conduit

Herein a free air would have buried seeds

For eternity

An industry never to repose

On the currents of free market swells

Rather fights in bitter freeze

Against the concrete entropy

Existential plateau

A tidal pool of crevice

Waiting on the winter crack

To emancipate the rose blush scent

Of flowering empiricism

Lacerating angelic elegies

My imagination is waning

And when I look out upon the window

I see a figment of world as pure concept

As an image that’s been gone

An ignorance that burns

A knowledge that flies so far and wide

As to just disappear

Skating on thin ice

Beneath an origami star

Held so fragile dear

Though I must fear

That she’s unfolding far too brief

Changing hands immediate

Wherein the market sets her pace

Slipping the weathered hands of industry

And falling tides from grace

A golden dust of snow

Remembers well the Bay of San Francisco

Setting sail on tides too low

Wings breakered ’pon cliff’s jagged face

Touching base a crucifix well battered

Anticipating the brick oven

A city of angels fallen latter

Mon Alouette,

Be my guard on this still (steppe/

Step hesitant to fathom)?

He tangoed with a Catolic reality

Hath been branded heart and mind

And pinch of soul

The Renaissance man

Au François

Popular pomp is a dilettante

A proper wisdom knows it foolish

Thinking wise

As secrets are like seers

Prefer to be dark lights of ambient thought

Than coy eyes of aging knowledge

Please excuse my devils’ advocacy

My imagination is a Slavic ghost

Basking peels of romance languages

The Mediterranean green

A whitened sun

A waking dream of being woken

From (insanity/jabberwocky)

By a once lover

The cordial brevity

Much too dry for my tongue

Our only kiss my muse

Rape me

Fuck me

Pierce me

So that my fury flows once more

And I can burn at last

The flags of my fantasized countrymen
Abandoning the solidarity of our childhoods

Love once was and for all

For empty rooms

We sleep no more

Come on you once were lovers

Now make a scene the spheres can sing

Was an ode to shame modernity

The truest avant garde

Gouging copulation

A gruesome abstracting

Bodies mangled in the passions

Trailing innards on the canvas

A cannibal’s milieu

Any man can give his blood

But to this love would give it to?

This razor thin does dance

Blades’ Shakespearean tragedy

The wanton lust for lovebirds’ song

In the desert a corpse of language

Flittering trivials of the romance

As life comes manifest

I grew tired of the mainland tug

I wanted rather many rivers to clothe me

Unfolding the crystal of true heart

The Platonic essence of transparency

Out damn bloody spot!

My lady invites my once lover’s mole

If severed an endless swell

Tainted Va Lázni

The feast of the angels’ opaque

Šialenstvo

All things settle on the brink of fall

The silhouette a gentleman

Hung for madness’ sake

As poets do

Mica, mica, parva stella,

Mozart Annishka

The starry flocks of liberty

Dobre Večer Sterrenacht

Iron bound thanks God the rain

Does settle us this beauty

The swans the dark and light

Convening on the golden grey

(In mask/en masse)

And we drew an ace from fortunes’ drift

To chance the moment of our rhapsody

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