gardens in a candlelit room

i take a hammer

and a nail

to my brother and sister eye,

one gazing south

to shared sand of desert and sea,

other north

through motorcycle lens

to fields of open pleasure,

my visceral concern

is not getting lost between both,

naked to contradiction

my form is seen

bare paleness of a wanting moon

sand still tasted between teeth,

without movement and sound

to the board of memory

each eye nailed

swiftly

so there is no gelatinous collapse

blinking obscura of pain,

i now want

flesh cold

still pale

not written upon by her lips,

hammer has fallen

indenting ground

taking root

Andrew Wyeth Man and the Moon

Hasso Krull – There Are Holes In The Road

There are holes in the road. There are holes in the earth.
Stepping forward I notice: there are holes in my boots.
Where there are holes, my socks show through,
I can see them, I know this because there are holes in my skull.

When rain falls into water, there are holes in the water.
As the droplets fall, I hear them because there are holes in my ears:
I stand and breathe because there are holes in my nose,
I move forward and think. Yes, there are holes in my thoughts.

There are holes in my words. Lao-zi thought
everything necessary came from emptiness—but tell me, friend,
what use would emptiness be if it wasn’t made of
holes beside holes? Large holes. Small holes.

Holes exist. Birth and death are holes.
There are black holes in the universe—maybe there are exits
to another place made of holes.
Exits are holes. The mouth, the heart, the intestines are holes.

blind code of tragedy

o glad spring

natures skin covers all again,

immortals forgotten

books buried in dull folded earth

tender vortice consuming hearts,

there is a thirst for the coming sand,

grass may tremble as it has risen,

flaming rings and streaming darkness

colossal worlds had not seen anything

of this before,

innate crawling at our borders

no day is forever,

spires and battlements no place

for ones such as this,

cold petals of a comets tail

let it pass

nine waves of birth

many wanted it shrouded

mother

scarlet ribs exposed expired,

now here would grow

one of a darker shine is coming

in a place on fifth street

habitat of men’s waste

civilization stiffened,

once before it had been seen

but not born as this had been

limbs without foetal sac extend 

ribs expanded

a new biology that was rapid and sudden

fear came in quarters

with each section of growth,

it knew and would consume voracious and explicit,

time segmented to be lived

as and when it wanted,

those who knew to object

found in a deep lividity,

and there was others born of old natures form

fragile anthropoid womb,

as they rose

as did the hero

figure in fixative of mood and relevance

could he protect against such malevolence,

he was a lure to the failings and complexities

we had once known,

from poulticed womb

sucking on earth drawn nipple,

would live and not yield,

he could not comprehend

that he would see

stark in it’s contrasts a beast to be fallen or understood,

flesh decays for a reason

both he and beast

faced a modernity

that was new and abstract

in a wasteland of succession ,

beast would find it’s way

limbs gave way to wings

stretched on the industrialism and democracy

that came before

fear could be a portent

science a response not a reaction

could not comprehend,

even those who had laws

that pastured and herded

experienced a sight problematic

with their domestication to older gods,

he again the one chosen to slay

as they truly wanted,

two creatures find a companionship

astride ocean’s they left

the tentative threads of old tragedy that existed,

and watch the tilt and slide

on axis of belief and society

fall away to a darkness 

worse than nothing