After Prufrock, ( this is an exceprt from my poem "when I am the silence." )

 After Prufrock, ( this is an exceprt from my poem "when I am the silence." )

Into the river, ghostly,

Of…,  in…,      Microdots,

The…,     Soft telling, of the story, 

Settling into Chupidero,

The soft sacrament, the hard questions;

Does the road match my load?

Betrayed, hidden, and silent,

Does the name I have match my form?

In the rain, when my voice changes?

Exiled in abandonments to drink the dark waters off paper, rock and scissors,

To learn how to play dead,

Underwater,

In subtle fractures sonic booms,

In tired shellacs that tremble the loom,

So the action lasts,

All the way back to Sausalito again,

Where I began making up sudden nights in tight membranes,

To go up the hill,

With the touch and go of a polypropylene time tower,

Where the passage declares,

The number of my hairs,

That I never match,

Because,

In another story,

I was a burning star,

With a million broken, dangerous immigrants, with no arms or legs, 

We wear fire for a charm to the sky,

At night our hands are full of shrunken alphabets,

Softer than the devils tongue,

Air cubero,

The black night thieves of the fire box, breathing bones to space,

In another set of eyes that do not radiate,

That’s where I learned the difference between my savings and loans,

Where I’m thirsty now,

For something else,

And she burns a bluer mass where I don’t last,

She comes out over the hill,

Shamed and loud,

Over the sky,

The inverse equation,

Behind the leaves and soil,

Through the earth, 

Another urn yearns,

I knew right at first, 

This could get worse,

I fed the fire, not the liar,

Stone headed up steep steps,

The tension grows,

There’s no boundary, 

For a blind monkey,

With a snake and a flame,

A ball and chain,

A good mention in the flash,   

Is all I’ll ever have,

So I try to maintain some cash flow while I can,

Play it safe, 

I know it won’t last,

To the moon and back,

Or past the continental crash,

Of fault lines and Kashmir’s loops and laughs,

Seen like small tasks,

To put on a graph,

Or some more sensual grasp,

For the search for the fantasy to continue with the movement of cloud hands,

Of bank ledgers meeting the drifting sand,

I took a different pace in the chase,

For a more delicate taste,

At the bottom of a well, 

In patterns of light and dancing shadows,

A great wet spider webs circling in cactus’ perfect spirals,

Is that a bird in that rivers swirl?

A rose in motion,

I can’t find her in the gifts she brings to the witness,

Singing, the flying kisses, 

Gentlest of wishes,

To beset the world,

And to liquefy the heart's sanctuary of all therein;

A five year old girl collecting firewood to sell at the market,

She will be cold tonight, but hopefully not hungry,

The most precious being that ever lived,

Making the kinds of trades most people do to get through a long night,

In her little handmade boots, parka and a little string to bundle sticks together and carry them on her back, 

She may be sold herself,

As a snow angel, before she melts,

Into little flowers and little worms, 

While I watch from my cell phone,

Amidst searches for the latest fashion,

A new heavenly flavor of ice cream,

And the flashing ticker tape scams,

Promising vacations to Switzerland, with secret funds in the new currency exchange,

And Thailand, with a younger face to freshen the choice?

Which one?

Ugh, My life is difficult,

While in lost rivers, or a black box, or a burning bush, or a well, or a lens in the bucket to evermore,

The truth’s of thousand tentacles,

That I never knew,

Ten thousand waves,

That I have never felt one of,

But in return,

If I listen carefully enough,

I know another sanctuary that believes in me first,

Not the road runner cartoon,

Playing games with two coyotes, god and the devil,

Buddha and enlightenment,

In the eyes of the man on the moon,

Are tears in the delicate balance of trial and error,

Touching on forgiveness,

Over and over again,

In strings, foot prints, first blooms,

Something from long ago,

The empty black box of night is breathing roots, colors and smells, and stars,

Bathing in rain drops,

Born again in dew drops,

In beating wings that carry children to the…. 

Wait are those arms and legs? Mine and your’s?

Climbing the tree? The burning bush? Into a cocoon? A coffin? A chrysalis?

Something else breathes my breath into a different fire,

Where I could be made of straw,

And in my heart, a tigers claw,

And the fearr they could not cut out,

Grew other forms of force, flex and flux,

To let the shadows come to me with a message of love, death and buzz, 

Another breath is breathing with the stars,

In a song that was never heard before,

For when a child falls in the forest of grasses,

Does anybody hear?

When the windows all turn cold,

Does anybody know?

What the windows didn’t show,

The breathing of a dead star,

Slipping in and out of scales of the night sky,

No screams were ever heard on the street, or in the shadows, or in the heartbeat,

Where waiting safely, with no guarantee,

 Quiet, became the host of bones,  

 While Dirga’s eyes touched my screen,

The larger meter, listening,

To screams of children, and nun’s in robes,

It never ends, so let us go,

YES, NOW. LET US GO,

Let us go,,,,

Disappearing, 

You and I,

Following the folding and unfolding of the universe in days and nights, 

Following wrinkles in a feather for a blue sky for a chance for a chartreuse serenade to float the tide on a broken wing

Following a stray wind that empties our lips, and we meet again in shivers threading the textures of our disappearing, passing colors through season to re-make the hinge, 

With wild Amazon blues from the deepest inner circle of early morning iris’ re-emergence, 

 

Let us go disappearing you and I, through the blue frosted edges of lavender tinted honeysuckle and lilac, gather each other up again in the dark fire, in the thinness of silhouettes hidden slip, fishing for northern lights and longer moments to know the song of rarefied lace,   

 

Let us go disappearing in passport pillow talk, scratching around the receiver for words to uncover the deal we made behind our backs,  

 

To go disappearing together, on the endless bed of radio waves where I’m not afraid to let you go for long moments while I dream of your subtle bodies taste, another application of pi, the way breathing always connects the inner radiance between us,  

 

Let us go disappearing in the glow of reflected after light draping over the table, the plants, our skin, on the wall, a little chamber of preciously late, gentleness, the resolution of a day, particles participating in the longest dream, a soft knowing of presence. 

 

Let us go disappearing you and I, in the smaller and smaller numbers of new interpretations of zero, let them moult with the autumn leaves, that sing for the believer, optical disturbances retrieve clues to unbuttoning cream in the sunrise.  

Let us go disappearing, you and I ,

In winter pale interludes, 

The way a shadow fades over a silhouette,

Where we won’t intrude, 

With a reason or a tug, 

Or for the forth edition begin alone, 

And did not forget, 

The stillness is behind all of it, to let us go disappearing,

You and I