the silver product of self will
be simple, seduced by a night
of thievery, some specifically concrete
desire in the progressive destruction
of your own personality.

each man has the courage to fight;
you’d fight for anything, and
the rack of tortured years would
seize the rest.

he has damaged what never
belonged to him. he would like
to love the girl who pushes him
by the moment to be a suspect and
corrupts those unknowable others.

she is ordinary and profound, and will
wipe tomorrow from all his values.

passive parasitism clashes with
desires, indulges in fantasy and avoids
wishes that are kept but never discovered.

nothing is possible but the gradual and
general interests of destruction, foggy
and empty in a world i never made.

i do not allow for wistful longings or
the blind choices that prevail; they belong
to the conflicts in the rivalries of chance.

the girl who would like to be loved becomes
divorced from the means, standing in judgement
of the heart that is pushed by the deeper
substance of mediocrity, hanging in the vacuum
that with love would be peace.

the tools of knowledge
abstain from thought,
remembering the human ruins.

the research of scuttling is
divided against itself and
without reason understood.

by a collusion the minutia
crawls from possibility,
is a malevolence at the mercy
of the guilt and terror of wretches.
--

empty control

a deeply personal joy of
platitudes and abnegation

the false destining a
callous coming where
disaster is a crime of
the victim

where the victims of ashes
are locked up in a fire

a flock of condemned beggars
preserving persona
--

i do not live in a lifeboat,
do not see rescue.
i fight for my betrayal,
the catastrophe of man
absorbed in the fire;
temporarily helpless and
guilty of an important life.
--

i remember this human shipwreck,
at the mercy of ghosts and men.

an ogre that could not admit the system.

guilt and fear are miraculous; the only
short circuits that destroy the heart.

the flesh is an organ one cannot trust;
the spectacle of self a wild malignancy
which helplessness cannot rely on.

in an autistic universe it is difficult to know
the misery that scorns the earth.

this earth is a mere custom
in the body of man,
a crawling aggregate acting
as its own destroyer.

the warning signals are
an abyss disconnected from
the flesh, educated animals of
possibility seizing the loot
of the moment.

the illness that accepts
guilt is a prerequisite and
disembodied stumble.

the exploited unknowable
will hold the sum of all days,
distortions that collapse the centuries.

the blind fear of efforts awakens
as a weapon against the unearned
march of love.

reason has failed the faculty
of sense, its stagnating brain
beaten out against the wall;
that semiconscious drifting of
mind a trophy of time.

--
you condemned
this habit of the body,
all the blood it required
a coercion of arrangements,
another beast to
shatter your skull.

you fought like
an animal, waiting for
the soil to feed you,
following whims and
ferocities, pursuing an atrocious
kind of fickleness; an apostle
of alleviation, of decomposition,
waking from a civil war
of hours.

the surfaces of walls are
populated by detritus;
these thrown away pieces
open old dictionaries of
entire worlds.

i believed that these treasures
housed worlds within
their entrails; wastelands,
concrete towns of garbage.

the minutia that a person shelters
throws away the human being inside;
a panoply of threats to silence the noise
which speaks a truth to the world.

--
my stomach is a giant
in armoured clothes.

our eyes speak to the childlike
part and are abandoned, the rainfall
a spectacle overflowed in the body.

they circle the silences that exist
in abundance; ornate animals
breathing the strictest stay
of dreams.

all my precious work
rains on you, sent
by the fingers; we are
truly imbeciles,
ruined by the attics
of the heart.

i cannot see where
you are, your reason
woefully damaged;
a system of smog,
spread out and silent.