018: Naunet

She marches at high noon,

golden cross on strong back;

a leaden tick-tock clamours her presence

to all living witnesses.

Strength of the sea, shining bronze waves

ride to the night and other lonely places,

through branches or through roots,

but it's no coincidence.

Below the velvet, tense fibers;

strings collude to bridges

and my wishes bloom in the sultry moor,

under the warm, dark cloak.

017: Black water / Winterdance

I stared down the severed neck of an antarctic exoskeleton

into reflexive waters that thirst for moonlight,

no echo made it back, fish and fishermen extracting

glum notes from the cayman's jaw grip.

Shoelaces and tongues tied in an effigy of disorder,

inviting me to dance the scalpel can-can in clinic waiting lines;

I declined politely,

as they were numb to the workings behind sclerotic curtains.

Your name, exotic, ringing of distances and fractured meanings

superimposed on the desert masonry of my nail-carved chapel

and the epiphanic wake left me to wonder the icefields,

stormwatching for signals of all too familiar alien life.

Adorning my wall, golden calculus table to determine

whether to apply that soothing litany;

maybe the polar twin of my nemesis is impervious.

Spotting the angels in the architecture of deathbeds

seems to have become the new national sport,

for soft-spoken words are blood kin

to those silent waters.

016: Plowing the fields

Velvet concrete drawn, yet the voice lingers on,

drilling rusted joints for anointment oil

to bless the spiral word meteor

adored in doomsday clock cult cogs.

Hushed in oxide parlours,

a colorless rainbow to hang from;

hear the waves, fear flavored,

mother the conjectures of revolutions,

in ebbs and flows, chart peak mountaineering.

Subject in silence, nerves meet air,

exposed in the flaming wireframe,

shoulderblades to sever the neck.

Aeries loom above the inside,

third eye retinal scan, the obscene abyss

reflects starlight from hell's firmament.

If I'd build a bronze serpent from the ashes of the unborn

to douse the radiance of the night

and terraform dried candlefields,

wouldn't such absence bleed the vision

with toxic subsequence?

Dip the spear in tranquil ebullience,

monotony is but covert self-fulfilling prophecy,

while correction fluid stains the body (subtly),

one can trace antidote formulas

in the secret discourse of tenants of wings.

015: Sinews

Scarab cult.

Verbs veer out of reach.

Translation loss, transient.

This is forever

and forever is a sound no one can hear.

Unsight to see, electric

words to smash elemental bricks

(current divine).

It never leaves us.

Sublime subliminal stream.

Universal archive coded

in characters and stages,

in love frames and liquid purges.

Wood and iron, astral signs.

Corpsing templates

found in flamboyant carrion.

Pinhole trepanation,

viole(n)t physician recipe.

Horseback ride bell ring.

Are we avid readers of cookbooks,

do we know why our feet keep kissing the soil,

can we see the ant farmer?

Only when I'll slip in sleep

will the light take shape.

014: Tide

I cherish the thaw as an exercise in reconciliation,

as a melody of familiar footsteps from beyond the veil of Maya,

pillars of possibilities cemented against program pliers.

Bouts of crystal apocalypse conjoined quietly

with sips of shadow dissent.

The milk android lives in my marrow mansion,

shielding me in her cinnamon sarcophagus

and crooning fragrance of diving star electricity.

The seconds before dawn mire the rotation,

inverted telescoping decree, conquering Fergana.

Teeth sink into seabeds of secrecy where the line fades

out of sight, solids dissolve, hot conduits from ground zero.

Butcher's block corrosion swirling into cables of the supraterranean

can never withstand the scissors of angelic Orcus,

for I claim this day as my own.

013: Strangers make the best confessors

Pack warm clothes, for cold winds blow outside.

Whence does this burning lash come,

this canyon eroded in eons of overcast days?

The beast whips remorselessly with utmost love,

chaotic crimson latticework drawn in moist teguments

forms patterns of collapse dragging lead appendages;

truth floats on alcohol, just as ghostships master the Sargasso Sea,

northwards, westwards, mere futile occasions to raise frail bars,

to restrain an angelic weather wake

and erect cornerless cubes of conceptual composite

from the crystallized discharge of primeval volcanoes.

Stone upon stone, arranged in obsessive perfection,

resins of damnation to topple ingrown ziggurats

of millenarian guilt, the care of wolfen mothers displayed,

a riddle of roads that lead from the absolution peak.

The outback forgot long ago the warmer neighbors of null,

a lonely light flashing from the lime hut

of a propaganda poster painter.

012: Schiele's phalanges

Gazing at the back my hand I noticed

callus ergs and martian riverbeds,

a record of elusive fixtures

and driftwood surfing accidents,

from underneath, ink-dipped dendrites report

shards of reversed prescience.

I feel the hiding bones;

tension reflects, tactile errand redirects.

I forget my words yet asterisks still stick,

cenotaph signs pointing to cavern footnotes.

Between resilent brackets,

the surface still cloakes an imperfect geoid,

eggshells still remain statutory husks.

Erase the blackboard with the rusted nails

of your left hand;

rewind the hours, but the pendulum swings ever lower,

under the weight of perched night flyers.

Finger zigzags across the sternum,

scratching pits of battery acid drops,

where anticlimactic trilithons and silent towers

lead the way to the fountain.