RITES

There’s a silence in the courtyard.
A raven’s screech,
A wailing sun,
Feasting on its own death.
The beads on the trees are pale.
Watching the rites of dusk .
Letting its blood flow.
Rivulets of blue
Impure shrieks of the primordial.
Weeping across the silence.
Into its pores,
Its holes , where the screaming voices lie.
Like dead in a dream.
The choked grass, slave,
Hides the bones of the bleeding sun.

Is death the raven’s screech , the bones that tremble in the cold mud?
The twisted rope around a tree stump?
The wires that twist and tie men,
cutting open the obedient sky slave to the choked grass?

The dragonfly dances around me .
A shaman’s beast.
A deer curses me from behind the trees. Hate.
I cannot see it now.
Dragonflies all around me ,
Tying me with anarchy.
Whipping at my hard skin
I see my red welts glowing.

The beads on the trees are pale.
Watching the rites of dusk.
Letting my blood flow.
A twisted rope around my neck.
Choking in the enslaved grass.
Rivulets of my impure blue.
Shrieking my primordial pleadings.
I swallow the sun and never rise again.

After exactly a week of drowning ...

it seems like a sudden gasping of breath as i rose from the depths of the ocean,
where the light shivered in ecstatic shimmers, luring me into its enchanting golden feathers.
A sudden gasping of breath as i realise that its a small pond im in , with my head dunked downward in a shallow pool.
A shallow pool that wants only algae on its surface, embellishing its sheen, ameliorating its face with a curly haired frond.
Why do i wish to shove my head back in the shallow weakness, and force myself to think that it is an enchanting depth im lost in, swimming in its magnificent glory?
Its a scene badly written, every one of my torrents of contact with a person on the other side. Its always an other side,
and now how much ever i want it, its so much more now, so much distant, so much more thin.

A flake, that covers the distance between us .
a flake that i want to watch and will it, like schopenhauer did, to thicken, the ropes to shorten, the paces to decrease.

Edge of a dream

im standing at the edge of rock ..
at the edge of a quarry
and below me there's hard rock, flat plateau of rock, finely graded


and im up there, i know im supposed to do something , like how u enter a room, but forget what ur there for...
so basically im searching for some sign .. for some thing that wll remind me ..
but i see nothing except , the rock im on and the rock below me ..
u know .. one of those dreams where evrything else is justa haze
and then i walk to the edge and look down

and like any time ive walked to the edge of a height ,
i feel an incredibly desperate urge to fall ..
, so this time i just let it be .. since i know its a dream and fall..
and im going ... falling , and then suddenly im thinking ,
what if it isnt a dream and im going to die
and the fear wells up, dark ..
and then suddenly i land.. not a thud or anything , like a cat , on my feet
and everything around me is still


im at the edge of a quarry ,
and there's the rock im on.. and below me there's hard rock, flat plateau of rock, finely graded.