Posts Tagged ‘Nothing’

Midion

Posted: August 26, 1991 in Poetry
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mud from the river-bottom
sieves through my heart
and dries brown tile
upon the sunny corridors
of hope.
shaken by the fist
of my own excitement
I feel my lungs
fill with salt
left by the cataracts
of beautiful plants
breathing.
to hold all of you
for one moment
would be to watch it crumble
and cry like
a waning moon
doused in the ink of the ocean.
little boy,
tiptoe carefully
through the echoes
of the fallen mirror;
the leaves
will put it back together.
the stitch of a sewing machine
manufactures my poetry,
sleep baptizes
my worried face into peace.
the dances of dreams
drum my skin into rest,
slipping me between the teeth
of monsters who plague my visions,
færies who cover my ears with storms
to mask the whispering
of nothing.
I fall without recollection
through cell walls,
shrieking with my senses,
soundlessly touching stars
with the shadows
of my fingertips;
hurtling at frightful speeds,
awed by the size of it all.
broken,
reflecting the trees
at fractured angles
agonizingly compounded,
the spilled eyes of an insect
encrusted with river mud
cracked and dry with age.

closet

Posted: July 15, 1991 in Poetry
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I have nothing to do so I do nothing.
I have nothing to say so I say nothing.
My day was cold and rosy like a wax museum.
Mistakes seem to multiply my shadow
Into monsters clutching broken shards of mirrors.
Weeds grow about the architecture of my projects.
I say nothing I do nothing I say or do…
The beatings are screaming dully now
Through the calluses thick and faraway;
Sounds I slowly turn my head past,
Rotating through the jelly halls
Of pedestalled imagination snowy with sleep.
Somewhere in my closet there is a chest
That I have lost and a little boy with no mouth
Is quietly picking up all the shiny pieces
That the shadows bring to him and putting them away.
Button-eyed animals have gathered
From smoky trash heaps to watch him
As they always have with their own bright faith,
Chrysalises for creatures clearer than I.
The alarm is reverberating somewhere, muffled
By the furs and pelts of sacrifices to unworthy idols.
Beautiful skins of fantastic creatures.
Tears fall from eyes which have not flinched for years;
Ever since I was a little boy with no mouth.