Wednesday, September 22, 2010

041: No name

Black pearls washed ashore,
runes carved in driftwood
from an island without trees,
pins on a map, epicenter
of a mythical nowhere,
solar tears whence the sky
drinks the sea dry.

Words about words,
tempt to paint a lash
in Mayan blue, no rhyme,
a wake so dark, a fall so deep,
awake or dreaming
lost in fog, a reality,
in questions of time spent.

Spitting out cupfulls of bile,
black lung haunted by fear,
look into the rising sun,
beyond shivering green,
a wordless answer lurks
where white whales spurt
and the moon drowns.

Monday, September 6, 2010

040: 3 days

Within the halls of seeping time,
in the glare of your footsteps,
tonight, on such a sacred night,
my soliloquy resonates so barren;
there's no answer form these tender bricks,
the veins of my temple are sewn shut.
Silver serves the red, to open the skin
of a butterfly wing, of a crimson king,
of an animal fighting its shadow
for the last splinter of sanity.
The night decays, yet you fail to see
how the fireplace caresses still
a newborn ember from yesterday,
petrified to a fractured rhythm;
I don't fear the winter, freeze my tears black,
for you may destroy this temple,
but it will be raised anew,
with every dusk and every dawn,
until the moon drowns away
in silence.