The Almost World

another chilly morning
moon a crystal fragment
                in eternity
stillness of moments alone
deep inside my head
pure solitude of the poem



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


alien fragments
a fallen whisper
the pear's grace
layers of silver
over dark thoughts
where i sit
just past coffee



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


bamboo
         sparrow's
song
     unbearable
sweetness
of thought
ether of a mouth's pink
oblivion
             under
the moon's
              geisha face



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


the long hair
of the
past
covers me
in white voices
porcelain faces
the suns of
dead planets
Traki's poems
everywhere
like ghosts
frozen in the mind forever
raccoon cries
in the night, wind
over rooftops
rain and more
rain



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


crevices,
where a moth
unfolds
its clear wings -
i
look out from there,
into
the eyes of
the rain
where hidden words
remain
exhaled in a wish -




dusk
petals
breaking
under
tongues where they
meet
at the poem's fallen
light,
              here
in the stillness of shadows



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


grey
on
grey
under this rain
somewhere, the moon
someone inside the moss
of dreams
if i call out i hear
no voice
i see the crows of memory
flying and
flying

away




the insides of words
repeat
themselves
in echoes of a flower's
mouth -
dark chrysalis of hair -
at the dead end
of
silence,
the cold ashes
of a witch's kiss



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


in this foam
of
whipped sugar and
starlight
a spirit-face drifts
among
the poems and new
violets,




melting
in a mouth
of snow
endless wine
and
honeycomb of poetry -




slow dusk
             moon
of doves

the pulse
a
throat remembers
ghostly
         fingers
around

a teacup of light



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


in the almost poem
the almost world
wings unfold
in this breath of pear
blue doves
buried in stone
rise
again, again
out of hands buried
in mint
in stillness



no more beyond
and i fall
like an astronaut
into these flowers, moon-
blind and silent
drowned in this dust
of a billion
moths of starlight



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


the words of Sunday
are the stars
of forever
i sit inside
a notepad
listening to nothing
unworlded
as if poems
in envelopes
would come from
another universe
unfolding into white
pictures of silence



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


vodka,
mist,
empty notebooks
on the
imaginary streets
of
the real
a rise and fall
eyes of rooms and the cries
of the souls
of lost poems
and the smell of old things
in the rain



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


i watch this 'movie
over and over
rain and mist
dead leaves on dead concrete
the wind in alleys
freezes my breath
baudelaire everywhere
muttering to
himself
"dead leaves on dead concrete"



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


at the cusp
of tongue and tailbone
a seizure of moons
in the deep white flesh of memory
moments, overlaid
with cinnamon and gold
pear twigs, dipped
in the ice of eros
beneath each leaf
each lip
an old man's anguish throbs



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


the astronaut falls
apart
where the moon breaks
into
permanent shadow, a sigh
escapes
reality, finally, sanity,
finally
the powder glitters black
like
robot eyes turning inward
this fact burning
into the helmet
redeems the mind
like sex
did long ago



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


a dream
of unbearable beauty
the unnamed myth I'll call it
death or vodka or winter, like looking
from behind
where a silk robe falls
into a pool of light,


at 4 a.m.
coffee reflects the moon
in a million poems
written remains of a life
in no one's hands
or mouth


here at the bottom of the cup
ghost of cinnamon
and morgantown



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


i lie awake
inside the smokey hours
a final memoir of light on leaves
of jade
the fields swallow me
all the moons of time are frozen
in my heart
i write, just write,
because it is and the world is not
a distant rain walks along the sky





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