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

Prost za vas

Na zdravie

Tango de la Materia, No. 40

What struggle ’tis
To speak of tongues
In timely lieu
To o’erlook the motion
Denied but moves us still
A sparkle in your head
Having traced in longed for suns
Into still too shallow tides
And to bide thy refusal to
Wade will draft thee out to sea
To follow now explicit sun
’Til Caribbean waters do recede
Atop new city skylines
Contemplating atmosphere
And contemplating some sharpened shine
Longing for a mirror
Searing unto itself
Its impeccable intuition
And how quite blessedly austere
It is to seem or seam
Or then how quite chic
It merely is to timely seer