We are in a triangle; a star cracks open to reveal itself in the heavens

We are in a circle, the sun melts into itself by the soul of the universe

A doubtful totality shows itself, 
Where tender stillness calms the voiceless once again

You appear and
I appear

You emerge in the faint landscape, that seamlessly has no vanishing point, self-deleting, a mirroring representation,

the silhouette of despondency has shown its limits

I am still trying to be here in the rendering of your existence, since it has become more of a burden to my vapid panopticon

Is it likely that we have agreed already to disconnect our exhibition to each other? We have never met, have we? Also, why must we be present to exchange ourselves in this game of survival?

No trap, independent of survival will succeed at bringing our endurance to closure

What does it mean when I say I wrestle with barbarous fiends, so that I may rest in your arms at night? Why must I travel so far to see a mountain in the shape of your depraved sensibilities? 

I’m an escort to your shadow by daytime, and by evening I am reclining in your breath of name

With the time that is allowed in life, I’ve grown accustomed to wasting it away on the thought of you in endless summaries of exquisite paradox, yes, a shameful waste of one’s energy, contemplating life on the sustenance of love from the comfort of their own consciousness, what a waste some would say

There are worse things that one could do, right? Like work 60-hour work weeks, sleep 4 hours a day, be consumed by parasites, or be reincarnated as Javert from Hugo’s masterpiece,

I feel that, contemplating my love for you, amongst the hours in the day is a trivial offense in the grand cosmos of reality, or possibly existence

However nugatory it appears to be, the expressions of loves longing to comfort is never satisfied

Hesitating, we embrace our inner-most self, 
abashed of our longing, conflicted over our unguarded life we seek to show each other

Who is in the way of us,
 revealing to the world and to our selves that we have sacrificed, and made our fate known that we shall love instead of toil 

Death sweats alone, hidden from plain view

Sparrows watch,
Owls listen,
The toad observes while the moon burns with inquisition

Silence quenches all echoes of pain, as the slender aggression sneaks another campaign

The length of the light reaches our legs, soon we are drunk with hours that beg

On the hooves of spiders that appear slow and tender, remember, our embrace no longer fears the taste

A taste of wasteful youth engaged in rage, with lonely hearts to pure to save

Sculpted massacres that rest in your palm, we have circled the graves that once were calm

Now we are wet with the guilt of arrows, we want to choose the path of the Pharaohs

I have aligned my heart with the moons torment, follow my howl as I avenge all who have sent

Send forward now a dispatch of crust, we must find the one who had poisoned us

We shall find his cave and bury there his name, along with the heroes who grow cold with shame

Hundreds of rocks all gathered and quietly observing the forever impressions, 
by unmeasured details of the war,
slowly washing away, the present

On the shore a crab is gathering a meal

Blood cascades from the light, varied prisms escape from the seconds of injurious luxury

On the shore there are obvious signs of a struggle

Wood, various branches and disfigured expressions wait in the ongoing pools of water that surround my feet

The insects abound, hurried in frenzied labor before the sun escapes the day

What does it matter if the sky never heals from its wounds?
We have this water around us right now, it’s protecting us from our deviation
Doesn’t the water last forever? 

On the shore, there is a pile of discarded bread from a bakery
Birds and other animals are not even eating it, flies are using it to lay their eggs 

Waves roll through, small ripples of concurrent desperation, accompanied by swollen surprise, gently crash against rock and sand

The shore is eating itself from within
And it sounds like a swarm of bees, 
ten miles wide

It breathes on its side, this
strip of vacant reclusion

An individual totality, 

silent repeater

There is no origin story, we lost our voices, and we are trying to carry on

We want to carry on in peace, we would like to carry on as if nothing happened
we tried, you tried, and I 
tried

This impassive voice on the side of the mountain drools a turquoise substance
It’s yielding an unfriendly odor around the camp
Don’t touch it, stay away and 
watch it from a distance

This is our street view

Her hair,
locked in tandem with hues of red iron oxide
the soft and readiness of fixed composition, 
before she was conceived,
she knew me

She lay with her arms crossed, wrapped in tar paper signaling to me with her
sudden flicks of her muted toes,
quivering from the balance beam of unknowing,
her breath beside me lurking into the abyss of my stretched-out eye,

Loss of power, and the abandonment of control hold the rudder that directs the ship we sail, for the moment

The sun rests beneath her hips while the crying hyacinth gently carry her tones from ordered to disordered

we still exist at a time of negative hours; our hands scale the wall looking for an exit

our exit is found in the deluge of our love, a simple and fleeting harmony that escapes G-flat major

The quiet sleep 

An attempt at silencing nihilist expressionism I hold in my veins

A love letter, that echoes in my chest and 
holds my sweaty palms at night,

I want to sleep the sad songs of weeping widows on my heart with you

I have traveled an inch 
It’s very far from where I was a year ago, and now I am at a loss to go any more

You bring me pillows of thorns
I love to sleep on them,
next to you in this abandoned window of adornment

we come here to listen to each other howl our laments

we thrash around the circle of our being

we slay each other’s goals, in an attempt at being correct

It’s quiet here

You used to be here with me, and now there are pythons as big as my torso that keep my company still

The sleep I dream of is distant and I can almost move an inch
In this dream I am the sea foam, trapped between the rocks
Bouncing a dance of soft confusion

This sleep is ending soon, the hand is at the curtain

Insufferable light,

I vow to avenge the torment of my tormentor

Now gather close and listen
I have nothing to give and nothing to say
gather close and listen 
I have nothing, so listen and
gather 

remorseful light,

I vow to sacrifice the torment of my tormentor

Come see
I have given my limbs to the tree of sharp confirmation
so that I may rest assure
my tonal value of merit can climb up and create a different value

A value without interpretation,
a value that deletes itself, so that this idea of value no longer 
holds value for you or for
me 

I vow to punish the punishment

Now harvest the work and effort you have placed on top of your head
Hold it steady and forget you were here
Let’s get lost in the twilight of positive denigration 

As we walk away
And veer to exit, I am holding you accountable for your apathy

Don’t weaken me, so your masochistic despot 
can drink the blood of newborn phantoms spawned by your 
passionate love of lifeless scourge

I did come in peace

But that was yesterday, and now the 9th circle of hell is calling for you

Once I published my infatuation with these things,

Since youthful beginnings I loved thee,

Currently I am repulsed at your chosen selection

You have nothing to offer,
 a silent revulsion circles your wormy interior,

We browsed the shelves looking for hope, 
and we saw only books dissolving, 
rotting, pages of perfumed decay filling the hallways

The books ache in chronological order, wasting away in the pit of despair,

As I go from shelf to shelf,
cautiously, 

I am surrounded by abuse, 
obsequious tittles only beasts in hell would enjoy,

The shelves mask their eyes from the guilt laden shame as I abandon all ideas that there may be one,

Just one book worth reading
Alas, 
none

Behind each glowing eye a secret disaster
Inside the eye a pernicious reverb

Be wary,
The gait of the coming stranger is fixed and
unknown 

Its corrected form is balancing between rigidity and profound
alarmist affection

Everything must be corrected
Everything must be pure
and devoid of life 

And make sure when the corrections are made, that the meaning behind 
the mistakes are also removed

There is no more time to make the necessary accommodations for incorrect plausibility

Hurry right now!
Don’t you dare hesitate to concentrate
We are all counting on your immediacy to fix our livelihoods 

Trust in the belief, and the stranger will arrive

The stranger will hold your hand, guide you, love you, and will
mentor your aptitude according to your idolatrous passions

You shall seek refuge in their solace, while the world around you will fade into 
g minor major

Now
Together with everyone 
We hold hands and remember nothing

Wasted by the breast of springs illusory second wave 


I wanted you to try one more time for me
I needed to know that what I did was sour olive oil, spilling into your shoe

You showered in the streets of delightful illusion again

Here,
I have a towel for you

I am waiting in the conspiracy
with a heavy heart and shovel

Exposed dirt, gravel and sand spread among the eclipse of stars above

I am still waiting
Although the conspiracy has expired, you still tend to it like the perfect, manufactured garden in the city square

When you arrive the ghost of your chest is swollen
malnourished and in need of repair

Use the shovel and burry yourself

I am taking my time to leave
I’m going under
not back

We have, 
collected the loin of winters illusory wave of murder

Silence

The rice, sullen, soft
featureless and bloodied

Bits and pieces, dangle and hide between the teeth

There is a road in the distance, it’s next to an orchard
Do not be fooled, it is a trap

In this trap are bags of rice
they are puffed and perfumed with small spiders on them

“walk this way” a voice calls out

There are no signs of anybody around, you walk with out legs and see with out seeing

“hurry, this way, I Will show you the way” the voice continues in the background
Still, no sign of anyone 

Back to the bags of rice, one is open, it oozes, and smells
The small black spiders have grown in the few seconds you have moved, there are fewer of them there now

The orchard is on the other side of the road, the trap has been set

I will not submit myself before the voice
the voice will have to kill me, I am no longer a threat, 

The threat has become the rice

Tender breath, renders a fox’s shadow

Fox
Absent without its black shadow in front

Front
Fox has a guise
Instilled within this dream night, suspended blood hangs
From the phantom moon

Behind
and approaching
Finally, where is this love I have declared so important to my world?
Where did it go and why has it abandoned me here now?

Fox
Wait here for a while, I will amuse you 
don’t push me, I can’t handle the amusement of you

Under
The table of brush, leaves, sticks, and malnourished grass
wraps around a tire track lost in the mud

Fox
Its appropriate now, that I tell you correct things, I don’t want to mislead you
No more truths, I need to tell you correctly, in a straight line
this is how they taught me, now I teach you

Above
we are now below ourselves surviving without a shadow
living within death and watching closely 
Listen, wind from the south is here