Powdery painted studio partitions
surround me. In moments
the light fades closing the spaces through branches, closing
eyes looking down to this beating, conscious centre
of things shedding life in both directions. What I saw
building in rooms’ corners
like webs, after another
countless death. That has been the mystery
of this day in time to
bring me answers
for future days.
This parade, some strain of some heady sonata
chiselling nausea: to hell infinity,
myself remaining an utter mystery
subject to complete sensory arrest
I know not
my language of tears: how helpless,
how vulnerable I am to an ecstasy I am not
celebrating here no.
This state was delivered by my mouth to the wood,
leaving kissed words, the sole witness.