With delusions at least I now should fool myself
so as not to feel my life that's empty.
And I was near so many times.
Yet how I was paralysed, how I retreated;
why did I keep closed lips
and have my empty life weep within myself
and my desires in mourning.
So many times to be so near
to those eyes, those loving lips
to the dreamed-of, the beloved body.
So many times to be so near.
I not fixed-minded remonstrate
adhesive θεories and hoaxes
washed out fishily in δoses
and heartily won't vaccilate
to be enclosed in choices;
far from the endless ruses
of supermarket bruises
I not blinded demonstrate,
a whirl of joinτed voices.
Luckily my mandible allows
for no clarid hue in
this majestic loitering.
If we must weep what gentle
use is mapping? Lamentable
incapacitated leer of
swamps and swallows. If we
must but weep in logic
what use is carnival? Mop
the marble airport kilim
until further the necklace
reasoned into dust.
I as ever unreckoning recording
the great no ember fog
the loyal unwarming of mute mindedness
purifying one dance across
a naked gorge in ever-silver the colour
of coralbone. If must I use my wept tongue
why travel sung?
Close to me is unpacked a
condensity of elemental flux an
engrafted polymathy. To know the
knowledge of before to tread
letters in the upward sky. My sky
the quarry-borne the chalk-faced
bridge. I measure the wing-span
of migratory stones. In the rubble
my fingers if they must touch forage
of marrow mineral and
chipped air.
