Thought unbearable. Rolling ball. Pure
and transparent water drop. Magic wand, threatening.
Red flaming flame. Word, never burning down.
Ready for everything. Present and foreign.
It happens. Sublime. Carved into the wound of the world.
Everywhere and nowhere. Homeless at home.
Attentive to itself. Dreamed of. Recognised in the experienced.
Trembling. Offering itself and destructive. Wishing.
Scooping from a non-existing world. Sobbing. And yet so ready
for that thing… Clad in the unavoidable mesh of singularity.
Tense. Skewered on a pole of loneliness. Blood-smeared and still
warm. Believing it or not. Trapped or not. Leaps. Trusts without
hope. Ill, suffering, wishing painfully. Even if it thunders down into
the power of the void.
And this can be desired. What comes and is. To summon up
in fear what is inexorable and good. To open up from narrowness
into broadness. On the side of painful dreams. Into transcendence of
ruddy admissions. Right there. All alone. Intercepted. Entranced.
Aligned with the sharpened world. Removed into the untouched over-measure. Honed and devoted. More than a thought and
more than a day. Miserable thought staring into eternity.
Inscribed without letters. The will of memory. Not the figure
of an often disquiet desert. Beauty. Absent. Divine. Lonely charity. Obscured within itself, sinking its teeth into the maddening night.
Willing and ready for everything.
Daydreaming, running to its death. The thought festering painfully.
The call for help is stifled. Slithering among the tears, quenching the soil.