First night and

You were already so deeply rooted in me

Only fate could touch you
Light drips in wounds but no sorrow shows. Opened and dishevelled, unconcerned, I stay away,
striding only my glance. With my glance I beg the iridescent depth of heavens, looming without a
silver edge. Light shames me still but I have dreamed of you.That means you are still.
This madness cannot be taken apart, it can be inhaled. Bones rattle as hearts deprived. I am in a
shadow, the shadow of your motion. Now the shadow went through, now the blood is silent. Sun drips
and falls blindly into this wound of absence. Serenity is set afar, motionless sun straightened with
humidiy. I have been rustling with my cage for so long I’ve forgotten to bond with something other
than rummaging. Space distrusts, space pushes my thoughts towards an incoherence. Tension reserved
for breathing.

If you could be any nearer than this the Sun would stupor into an ocean,
Width perspires into heart.
Dialogue I

Pain is the beginning of intimacy.

So you intent to be promiscuous?

Yes, I've made a bed of the entire world. The intimacy is the knowledge of the world,
Yours and self. My intentions are pure, to evade the horizont and nibble silence in my mouth
Hoping for a safe arrival.
In the rain the bells can be heard. Voice evaporates. Early mist unfurls, in between pourging and
intermittend slide of cars, a bird shyly strungs with a single note. Light falls freely, with all the gravity
of a white it can afford. Between half of those graves heath of greenery hands the path between the
pines. Rolling, the unduling wind touches me. When I breathe alone in this room, when I think, mere
consciousness demands you. I want your silence but I don't want the lust. The bloodstaining of desire
is fatal and futile. I want the messy one though, the uninterrupted stream of embrace I get when you
glance my way. See beyond this utterance. See beyond exactness, unto it and under it all. See me for
what I am, stop listening to the words because I cannot get outside this clarity that is, again, too weak,
to reserved, even if it flutters to be gripped away by what I get from you when you are near. Nearness
is with you a moment lapsing into what is a feeling of time; time as a being, moment as a being; not
immaculate nor moving. Blowing into the void. Transparency of us becomes and it impones.
I could yield to this and I want you to know I sense it now, when no sign is visible and no line
embarks security. It is wrong but I must tell you. I am yielding and there is nothing so suble, so well
aligned, so unquestionably rare as falling into one's absence, as if into presence. Mind makes you still,
mind shows you naked. Have your senses bared me, made me naked in your thought is out of my
control, not my interest. I could yield to the though, to the feeling, to sensing that you exist and that I
gave you the invocation to be present. Please, stay. Please rumble me, humble and yielding, please
don't mess with words but just continue to reverberate. It seems I am pleading you but I am pleasing
my mind on the rim of illusion, where deceit ends and pain begins. Some sweet flushing that is, you
are never so close to me. Continue, please. Else I will remain with something simultaneously choking
me and distancing me, ushering me not to speak of you ever again, until I die.
But what if tenderness meant to be away, deeply away
Unveiled and straight,
Disciple your future as it tangles you now, you are
beguiled and unconcerned, very humble in a shadow?

Stumble without a fall, vanity knows how to untangle courage.

The lions are near. Touch exploits the reason, but they can smell your thought and you think
You will not eat me if the fear sucks me, dries me, eats me first.
Do you want control or do you want to live?
Their skin is adrift and wet.
When the night growls
hovering upon the vein of river
Hands are acres of land falling into flacks.
Hailing dawn in a violet
Violent break.
The Lions are near and tire with waiting,
You’ve dreamed, the love you seek is not here,
Open the cage and let it all be kissed apart by dawn
Kill the silver snake and sing when touching
step outside, drink the gulfed storm
Gnawing, that is how moments should be preserved. I am not thinking straight but I have walked in
silent woods, unafraid of the smell. You step twix those trees as twixt some brave tombs. Tombs have
preserved breathing for rare plants. Gnawing, in the distance, some storm rolls over the hills of
dismay. I have been a desire. I have unfolded beautifully. I have suffered tenderly, as a sunset. But
now I find this kind of gnawing exactly when my dreaming collides into idleness.
5/4

a day in whose dominion I can only process rare, unfathomably rare sounds.

Where everything ruptures I continue to walk. Example: someone has been having their
appartment walls&plumming scattered, plastered, evaded, scuffed and tied. I believe in a state
of an organic existence in everything and those workers, innocent and deluded with their
chours, have lacerated it. Some arteries have been blown away, intermittently. I wry as I listen
to it, once more. Again, some confusion is left there. Do I begin to undersand the evolution of
sounds? A slingshot is cocked and it pulses, from being to being, offering its exalted sense to
me, a witness. Someone who is more aware of the blood than the outer close of an artery in
question.

a day of slow decay where I sink and occasionally blink with my burning insomnia. How
aware, during daylight ( another exalted moment?), I am of my tiredness, of exhaustion whose
well is deeply rooted in my nature. How exhausted and crippled I am. The sun is up and the
heat goes wild with voices. As it would show, the distance between two silences shows my
endurance. A day in whose hourless features I see how has the sky changed.

The blue shows ever on.

to invade yourself with:

-lack of sleep

-lack of interest

-a gut feeling of perpetual estrangement

to invade, to rethink, to rebuild.

I haven’t slept in a while and I am beginning to unravel. If I move my head I am aware of the
continuous, unending pressure of my neckline in a same direction. Opened inwardly I sense
an autumnal force pushing me towards the sleeping machine. Outside a combustion of velvet
hills in two hues. Hues assemble. A line forms a horizont; one-daylight, two-mountains as
carefully aged bodies, three-woodland and smoke, upright handshakes of trunks.
Distance slowly shapes in a landscape of humidity. Tuesday shakes and turns. What sheer
luck of fertility is found when one is silent.Unravelling has never before began with light, but
has form some kind of a lightness; some despair easily grasped and unsilenced by either
thought or changed position. This is a shortlisted memory of cloudless anger where, at the tips
of my fingers, I could feel blood testing my intentions. what crisp motion of self, what pulling
inward, opening and shining, turning in, what, in turns, makes ourselves visible,tangible?
Wherever I go, this longing, this pure, all too adequate longing i have for you,
turns to grief then to reminiscence
inside the weakness that bears my blood, my passion, my all very self
I hear you

Your grace, a monument of pain,

a language of doubt, far beyond suffering. I stroll in your silence and bear the burden
How could I think I was ever naked before we spoke? Before we glanced at one another? Before we
stood in mutual presence, both dead, both pursuing afterlife together? How could I think I was alive
before I thrusted my thoughts into invading you, ever so gently, before this world unravelled with the
sound of your name? Before a name became sacred acquiescence, interminable night of soul.
I wait and die and wait beyond all utterance, beyond any part of self
You told me you loved somebody, sometime before. What is that to me? Not my memory, only an
invitation to suffer; not a weakness but spit, lifeless skin dissolved in my mouth. You told me, not
expecting it to last in me, you told me you have loved before. And I… have I lived before? Have I
gotten stronger? Have I died in this devotion? Nothing matters but now. All is spawn everywhere, at
the center of the fall. Nothing matters but this moment when you told me you felt something before.
You walk inside me. I hear the thud of your heart wherever I glance
I knew it when I couldn’t finish a thought. Speak. You let the room, you entered the room but I
couldn’t go on in between. The need fell upon me in silence, as silent deaths do.
Everything had a weight of a single emotion, one face as a meaning.
Death is not enough. Graves are not in depths. The world was taken and I we do not belong;
persistently, the outside was alive, wrong, irrevocably wrong and pushed away.
Appetite is attire, iodine clothed again and again. I have sheltered half of my soul within you. Please,
believe me, you must know what healing you bring about. I exhale in your presence the ravishing
passion but it’s you who has hanged in there with me. Please believe that I loom around you, body of
mine mirroring, merely memory, twisting sucking and waiting for you. I stand alone as I gaze and
weep out not your name but what you are. I weep it in a sigh and I am strained in a sound. Have I
spoken? Should I have kept my silence? Should I keep the distance? I have a fiery grudge beneath my
skin that laments and lacerates this distance. Distance creates belonging and it tempts to become a
destiny. When you arrive it’s always different, purity creates. I have sheltered my soul in this way, in
passion and in you, in the one, wrapped alone . One leaves in waiting. Please, you must know how
much. ..I am murmuring a single plea every instance we are apart. Please, remain.
I know, I know, I knew it all along.
The Earth pulls me towards you
the season of relentlessness
I am in pain but you, you are the pain

(The nightmare I get when I sleep alone)

Dry winds
The dead now call for you to cross the lake
the fire the time,
the bells have chimed, yield,
but you are not mine.
To hold and to forget, she revives in those fires, with smell of burning glass, fields opening up with a
distant shade. She lives in a death greater than echo, in a sorrow, inside a flame, lungs speaking to a
memory.
In the morning I realised it has been ten days since we last spoke. The world is a sleepless skeleton, a
charging bullet that bleeds in the air, a solemn reprise behind my weary body, cursing me, frightening
me, sticking his name on my forehead in a fountain of suffering. I know you must not think of me as
much but I am here, hanged on reminiscence, solemn in such mellow pain, here is to you not knowing.
here is to a tranquil fall into a heart of an ocean.
I’ll pass the time. If someone could hear what is going on in my head, how I have no fear of losing,
how I appear alive but in act I only stare, if someone could hear how, in my head,a bird flutters from
one side to another trapped in a room full of broken glass. I’ll pass the time here as I hear, early in the
morning when the mists clear, how shards echo your name. The bird appears and the eyes are too
dead to fill the scream. I’ll pass the time here, ordering a drink thankyou, goodbye. Rise and rise again
to meet the stream. let me remain. Ere it clears it will all appear to bright to say, too full to yield.
“Beethoven has a name of a storm, the essence of a storm; perpetual sorrow happening all at once,
don’t you think? You don’t see it coming, you don’t hear it, but sometimes, when you close your eyes,
it makes a knot on your heart, on your chests, on your eyes, the water of a hundred oceans goes
straight for you and before you know you are dead, bones in a sigh, soul in deep deep mud, loved by a
touch.
I am permanently in a state of shivering