Today as a weak
And in the midst of a deep sleep
You realise what keeps you awake;
A lack of harmony can only creep
Through the manor it was poached in by the week;
Below the peeled shadows of a bronze sky
Two immovable responses dance above your head,
Baptising you in sunlight through the crackling blinds —
They take the form of two peasant-gods
Begging for an instance they forged;
When there is one laughing
There is always one crying;
What does it mean to escape from Hell
And never return?
The familiar route of melancholy
Rambles to me in reverse;
Guts me to the idiom of how to be is to rehearse
And that to be alone is to be free,
Where true nothing can be seen —
I am too distracted by what would\'ve been,
The past is an ever-flowing sanctuary
Rigging the horizon to a concave of bear traps,
Enthralling you in the delirium
Of being for one’s own sake,
Where death is the last form of love you keep;
And in the midst of a deep sleep
You realise what keeps you awake.
The name I lost
In this night which forever remains late
Where all is known but not foretold in age
I stay burning within an orphaned state
Weaving memories tragic upon the stage —
Sacrificial blood can only be wasted
Again and again as a slave receding,
The incompatible rage never pure
Marches behind birth in hope to find the cure.
A universe as shapeless as sound,
The curdled revelation
Forever beckoning,
The ignored revolution
Forever evolving,
Slides into the well-pool’s echo,
Ties a man to ends inseparable,
Enslaves a voice in a cell foretelling it’s parable.
I grapple onto what I think I know
Like a child always wanting
But never ready to grow,
I feel being for what it is -nothing-
Everything is too quick to catch, too slow
To be understood as something
Other than the brutality of wills flow,
The name I am always losing.
The virgin brutality of Chaos
Always anticipating
The joy of loss
Begs asking
Why I’m hesitating; —
I grapple onto what I think I know
Like a child always wanting
But never ready to grow.