downward rumours

downward rumours

creaking cracking shrieking

every beating

of man of wife of tv

becomes ground in the tv series

thats now but noise

of murdering sirens

ive got the impression

of it on

every scale

major minor diminished

a third inversion, too

revolting against its roots.

high-pitched

and drumming

then

saturnal trans–

position yet

on the airless wings

of an instrument

of a creation

reproduced and reproducing

silence.

yet

Pressing on the earlobe, insistently

pressures the mind a ghastly fantasy.

emptys the neighbourhood

while neighbouring thoughts destruct the mood.

Or else, I’ve done mischievous deeds

Or else, I’ve done mischievous deeds

planting but sorrow, harvesting seeds

unripe, that others had interred.

The dissolution of souls deferred

my strikes, mirrored them. I fell.

Pluck a petal, pick your passion.

I take no pleasure in tiring my head,

stirring, recurring to stratagems

of deviant kind.

Lands of gems,

single islets producing but doublets.

It’s getting harder and harder,

ardour’s betraying all,

or else, I’m doing mischievous things.

Still feeling, feeling still, stings

– I feel the pain draining through

acts.

Shall I compare you to a summer’s day,

you should, but I need to go away

too soon to listen, too far back to stay,

the only thing I want to live for is today.

Each of them looks alike

not a critique of pure dishonesty

but I attempt to see whom I’d like

to see.

Scraping leaves – hello

I say. Is it you?

Tourists? I’ve been one

back in the day,

when beer was cheaper than food. And now

I travel around the house, tomorrow

I’ll be sitting in a better place.

Hunger doesn’t leave me,

it makes me write, and then

it scares me with dyslexia.

Alas, I want to eat, yet I don’t,

I’m no use fat nor skinny. The only want

of me is me.

Thersites was my friend, the best,

he gave me a helmet with a crest,

“Put it on and walk around”

he said, “falling to the ground

you’ll see the chicks.”

I’m done with this,

to hear the switches, to hear the mis-

sing of a name.

O, give me fame.

the generation that lost

the generation that lost

the classics are long past

erudite talking too

jumps in the primordial soup

and their embellished unadorned

outcomes failed.

then came a new way of fighting

of beating lines of pox

piles of rocks

open roads in enclosed streets

elites of masters

without degree.

all is past

they all lost their vibe

the last of which

against present vibrations.

now facts not feelings

post facts not facts

feelings and nothing more

Lenore and other angels

remember without thinking

or think to think of deeds.

displaced realities

a sour land loved

rejected. objected

voices from every corner

each a wanderer.

all these

a lost generation

with or without nation

breaking grounds anew

already old marked

by earthworms

coming out of the ground

and retreating with

contaminated nutrients.

A Breath From the North

A man and a man in a room with a name unknown.

Some people call it a house of terror, some

they say it’s a place of fun, of drug and liquor,

of smoke and needle. Then he’s come, alone,

from far away to feel the frenzy. – What?

– Away! Away!

– May I help you, sir?

He asked while opening the door – he had no right

to ask, the Smurfs this time were close to get him.

– I thought there was a bar, here around.

Dee doo dee doo dee doo dee doo duh

– There’s none. Now come. You’re mine. – he shut the door.

– Come out! – We know you’re there! – Show yourself!

– I do not wish to come.

– I don’t wish to come!

– Come out! – We know you’re there! – Free him!

Unharmed a man and a man from a room unknown

came out. Unknown what might have happened inside.

The side of right, the side of wrong, unknown

to all involved.

The situation resolved

in nothing still, still in nothingness,

uneducated paths of fullness.

Imago Nationis

A format mistake

opens to etymologies new and false.

This is no matter of State,

the state of things being matter,

peoples and nations.

Combinations of figures,

figuratively configured

in deeper imaginations.

Be it Mont Blanc, Plato’s cave,

a haunted house or an armchair,

these lines project shadows, thin air,

cautious delineations of uncomplete projects.

Images on images, not yet imagined,

not fully consciously integrated,

form not forms, not shapes, but lines,

thoroughly forming nations.

R.I.P.

a word that reekly strikes admits no nay

it touches every bundle in the wood

the cortex of life the core text of man

coral is far more red than her lips’ red

it vexes t’wards th’aporia block in stock

contiguous entities share no unity

but that exposed forbidden liaison

of form reformed from frames unfreed

unmasking the danger betwixt the metaphor

which seems the only figure on the ground

elevating but for saliences but for silences

of an underscored aphasia

something missing

quoth the peremptory adventurer!

whom did you see did you enjoy whom?

what is missing now what is lacking

in the time you think you need a blast

come again my gentle folk sing

about the myths in ancient greece

I forgot I forgot forgotten

lines of black cars darkened men

aligned by them light and vanished by time

forgot I, I, I guess I

forgot also procedural understandings

of how this alienated language works

never have I ever understood

never have I ever truly dreamed

to understand or even thought of mastering

my thought

belief drags me always on

certainty that all these maddened bloody corpses

unbodied by coarse actions engendered now

on virgin sheets on feeble stains on

and away, on on the lawn of today

Imago Naturae

lulled in an awe i feel

an unsubstantiated presence

now manifest.

i recollect myself and recollect

the point of referentiality

triggering unordinary calmness.

wishing the Wished

wished the Wishing

augury of bonds so distant from

everything

that can be produced.

this lull remains

and there it stays

retrieved by unretrievable unfactual

knots.