Monday, March 02, 2015

Ocean Seeping Eyes, XVII

Everywhere I look, for someone never seen. Are my eyelashes
Your hair? That might explain why I blink and stare like this,
How I never stop starting to wonder, why my irises are green.

God is the non-existence of friends. So whoever is my friend
Is God. Get it? Do you understand that if you understand this
There is nothing whatsoever over which to ever make amends?

I love you—that is how perfectly everything works. But who
Wants to believe that? Perfection seems to be surrounded
On all sides by miserable monsters, projecting their sad quirks.

Guess who is the one I cannot think without thinking of? Now
Do you know who you are? I am sorry for only confusing myself
And everyone else further by attempting to talk about love.

How to keep the secret that will not stop talking? I do,
By letting nothing constantly happen, by listening to
The silence saying this is not it, now continue walking.   

Someone knows whether it is stranger that you or that I
Exist. All day I hear him-her telling me during a moment
Too long to last, a swift instant too eternal to persist.

This is written for that which listens, banishing all fears. But
It is spoken for another, screamed more quietly for none
Other than the one who becomes present in the blur of tears.

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Ocean Seeping Eyes, XVI

Drop the umbrella of time, let it fall. Let the shining sun
Eclipsed be by the light of the darkest sky, the one that
Restores space to being a supreme minimum of the all.

How I scream beyond hearing today. That’s how it should be,
Given there is only silence, simply this unhearable tune
Shattering the air per se like glass and blowing it all away.

Crystal this wound is, deeper than matter. Impenetrably
It shines with a kind of frozen solid fire, a mirror-like pain
Crucifying every color in the sweetness of its laughter.

Now see that my body is only a seventh shadow. So where
Does that leave tears? Are they a mere penumbra, or the clear
Sap of our deepest unseen sea, its darkest transparent glow?

Hold me beyond myself, in safest danger of striving. That
Is where I am anyway, playing in all-owning poverty,
Killing being killed on the battlefield beyond surviving.

Worse the world’s arrows do is to whisper your name. And this
Is no different from the best, namely, to record in sheer delight
The never-ending day one glance realized the heart’s secret aim. 

Let the whole universe whizz by, what do I care? Nothing
Erases that which long ago erased all erasing; no light
Will ever darken the ancient blackness, the one never there.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Ocean Seeping Eyes, XV

Because nothing is enough equals everything is too much.
So the next time anything happens, notice how everyone
Is wearing a black executioner’s hood, and how they blush.

You and I will meet once the body resurrects from me. That
Will be the day, the way there will be no more stupid fuss
As to who is who or why it matters—once—to not be free.

Today melted time—anyone else feel it too? They say that
Awakening has this uncanny aspect of not being
Able to distinguish between another’s false and one’s true.

The moment I welcome spring in every form, dragons appear.
Does that mean anything? I mean anything less than the love
Whose hyper-human summit ignores every cloud, casts out all fear?

Cosmos was destroyed at the moment of creation. All
That we experience now of the universe is simple
Loneliness, the long waking sleep of its pure preservation.

There is no greater fortune than this, none. There is nothing
Anywhere that will ever compare to the thrill of such speed,
The infinite acceleration of what is never begun.

As if the maker of this possesses a voice! Therefore hear
All the more nearly what is spoken, with both ears growing
Down to the ground of silence, where the word is without choice.

Spheresy 1693 [excerpt]

[co-authored with Alina Popa, forthcoming from Schism Press]

Spheresy is a non-ending manual for committing spheresy, a constant collection of imperatives and infinitives to keep you moving in spiral spheres.
To be a spheretic means forever to stay fixed on the spot of fidelity to the unbounded intelligence that moves between intuition and bewilderment.
“The intuitive form of intelligence can be called ‘a dynamic intelligence,’ since it can conceive movement, such as a spherical spiral, which is objectively incomprehensible” (R. A. Schwaller de Lubicz).

Take Spheresy with you everywhere, in order to see where you really are, in order to never return.

  1. Rot the known into the unknown.
  2. Swallow the aphorism only after it becomes a spiral sphere.
  3. (To) never again fail to please the beloved in thought, word, or deed.
  4. Spend not extra for the lifetime guarantee of being malignantly useless.
  5. To draw that which has no image other than itself.
  6. Meditate diurnally on the inexistence of any person worth replacing.
  7. To die listening to yourself saying your own name.  
  8. Constantly increase the chances of being burned on a spiral stake for spheresy.
  9. Take the hidden detour into every line’s electric chair.
  10. To fly to one’s throne on wings of a crypt.
  11. Sense how the devil stares at you through your nostrils.
  12. Measure every statement by the question: is it a spiral sphere?
  13. Bury me in the tomb that reality is digging for itself.
  14. Steal the heart of the thief who is stealing everything from you.
  15. Smile such a smile that all souls in paradise taste your sorrow.
  16. To have no dreams other than this one.
  17. To wake up murdered by the objectivity of the real.
  18. Out-survive the loop of consciousness immortally bit to death by its own tail.
  19. Hear something that sounds like everything listening to itself.
  20. Say something to distract me from seeing that your lips trembled.
  21. To render naked the reason you like to say things.
  22. Stop distinguishing simultaneousness from consecutiveness.
  23. Let absolute time happen to you now.
  24. Spin around your axis until you become discontinuous to yourself.
  25. To have been born beheaded.
  26. Don't be deceived by the tenderness of your thought-virus.
  27. Surrender to your autophagous tics.
  28. Take it anymore.
  29. Listen to nothing that tells you what it has to do.
  30. Evacuate any trace of meaning from your mouth.
  31. Neutralize all punctuation marks.
  32. Let the junk selves take over.
  33. Lick the wounds cut in my flesh by your thoughts.
  34. Make an appointment to stop pretending not to know that it would come to this.
  35. Lower your smile into the well of my eyes.
  36. To funambulate abyss on one’s umbilical cord.
  37. Turn to maximum the volume of the death of things.
  38. Broadcast peak-abyss in real time.
  39. To be nothing more than preemptive auto-laughter at one’s own joke.
  40. Write only what the partiture of silence dictates.
  41. Bring me to sleep with your roaring lullaby.
  42. Hear the silence of thought refusing to think.
  43. Die on the spot by admitting what you already know.
  44. Relax: I got the sly hint without seeing you drop it.
  45. Console thyself that this moment is neither the last nor the next.
  46. Stop giving to everyone the misfortune of being you.
  47. Smash all guillotines in the mirror of beheading.
  48. Decapitate photography with a picture of your severed head.
  49. Burn and consume thyself in unfelt desire.
  50. Feel free to perish by failing to hit the target precisely.
  51. Die trying to annihilate death in life.
  52. Betray sigh-analysis into the contingency you forgot to become.  
  53. To see that you are in more pain than you will ever know.
  54. Use your tongue to invert me into a spiral sphere.
  55. Intoxicate thyself on untasted wine.
  56. Drown in thirst for the true desert.
  57. Wait here until time stops procrastinating.
  58. Find consolation in still missing yourself if you did not exist.
  59. Spell the name your ashes will sigh.
  60. Be too smart to trust your mind’s belief in itself.
  61. Maximize actual impossibility.
  62. Hesitate while giving up your twisted hand in total abandonment.
  63. Pluck thyself into an unpublishable florilegium.
  64. To headlessly escalate the tail-chase into a spiralvore.  
  65. Give thanks to the ocean for swimming us into ourselves.
  66. To leap like salt in the wine-dark sea.
  67. Solely pursue knowledge of stupidity.
  68. To not see through eyes covered by the dust of your logic.
  69. Think that the thought you are thinking has just inhaled its own ashes.
  70. Fill the emptiness inside with the space between thoughts.
  71. Hang from the tip of your breath and see with the spark of your tear how you fall into the lump in your throat.
  72. To taste nothing but the tip of the arrow in your heart.
  73. Consider the possibility that your brain is a stillborn baby.
  74. Permit the imperative to be eaten by itself.
  75. Lose me the way you cannot admit to yourself that you want to.
  76. Secretly embarrass yourself.
  77. Bless the day when this body applauds you for cutting off its head.
  78. To open paradise in the pain of knowing there is nothing you can do.
  79. Play with my head as in floats in the vat of your blood.
  80. To shamelessly bottle your tears in the hope that no one will ever find them.
  81. Constantly repeat what you have never said or done.
  82. Feed your marrow on the absence of a life to lose.
  83. Refuse absolutely to go along with yourself any more.
  84. Remain calm if God wants to be made by you.
  85. Blame everything for this marvelous tendency to fall into mutual trance.
  86. Daydream only to attain reality.
  87. Imprison the correlation in an impenetrable tower of amniotic time.
  88. To impregnate yourself with the birth of pleasure.
  89. Sigh yourself backwards into absolute fear of breathing.
  90. Quake apocalyptically in infinite recursion of floating tombs.
  91. To levitate folly to very bottom of gravity.
  92. Drown by following your heart to the ocean floor.
  93. See space weep for time, hear time laugh at space.
  94. Pay attention to the Stay Out sign posted everywhere.
  95. Feel free to cling to me if you do not know what else to do.
  96. Practice using the lifesaver’s hole for drowning.
  97. Never want more of what you already are.
  98. Take the path of honesty to self-destruction.
  99. Accept no substitutes for the finitude born from extinction.
  100. Swallow me because I am yours.
  101. Grow confident in all you do not know.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Ocean Seeping Eyes, XIV

All I would say, all I would feel. More than the anemone
Hears in a siren’s song, than the mermaid may conceive 
In her most secret mind, more than sea-longing of the seal.

The ocean is only infinitely compact layers of sky
Dying for itself. All day it drowns in stratospheric love-
Sickness, hungry like a shark recalling once being a sylph.

Snow is the sea reminding you to weep. Too much I see
From my window, view never mine where too much is thought,
Where thinking everyday resembles the worst possible sleep.

Fact is, none of this is for me. So what? If this specific
Death-by-individuation event were not happening
We would still be reading cosmic pessimism by ET.

Perhaps there is a real party somewhere—paradise! The wine
Must cost a fortune in freedom, the beauty beyond belief,
And the song supremely synthesize all aspects of fire and ice.

Now love in me tells poetry not to go to hell. It flattens
This soul called mine into a kind of lace, an ornament
Unintended, gentler than anything you will ever feel.

Lower than earth or water, Nicola is—alas—lava. 
As for what remains, who knows? Search out your own heart,
Follow the sigh from the empyrean into your vena cava.  

Friday, February 20, 2015

Ocean Seeping Eyes, XIII

Sunk in memory of eyes, world is turning marine. Too drunk
To talk about it, I swim now in pure drowning, drinking in
The sinless delight of underwater sighs, so dark and green.  

Deeper into themselves the orbs flow. A sponge from beyond
Vision is soaking all things into seeing, ocularizing
Every lucid surface into a blue, self-observant glow.

It is obvious now why you are not here: for the express
Purpose of seeing you everywhere, of plunging my whole
Three-fold body faster through the pupil-portal without fear.

Any who see what is happening will faint. Whoever
Comes across this uneasy, incommunicable gazing
Will have no idea what to think, no image at all to paint.      

I see no way back—to where? What way or method for turning
Round is possible for a coral-boned being, a buried ember
Of soul-flame bubbling its spiral self away in spheres of air?

He was seen once, when you never stopped looking. Now his eyes
Are liquefying all things in the sun of that glare, enflaming
The earth into a cauldron sea, this long turbulent cooking.

No wonder I sink to depths, fly far below. The air above
Is too hot to breathe, and were it possible to survive
The inverse journey, there would be nothing, no place to go.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

Ocean Seeping Eyes, XII

I tell myself this—not the way it is. Here a man walks
Alone in spiral circles, looking for a scent that hunts,
Haunted by a center that makes him no longer his.

Looking for where it happened, for blood. See my feet know
Where to walk without me, touching just what they must,
Abandoned to simple easy skill, stepping on frozen mud.

Everywhere I walk is snow, blinding white. Where is the red?
Where is the secret open portal to the site, bed of earth
Where she severed my skull forever in the middle of night?

The few drops of oxygen in questioning are not enough
To sustain life. And now there is gas in the veins of thought  
Because of love, constant murder without victim or knife.

Now there is walking in a circle that goes everywhere—
Antarctic perishing, freezing of breath, hyperopic dreams
Of sublime crystal thrones and prism-castles in the air.

Step by step by step the story goes. When apocalypse comes
He will be still be walking straight to the center of the bomb’s
White death, as if it were the empyrean, his own celestial rose.

My secret is mine, or so I say. When the last step is taken
And these wise feet refuse to go, neither here nor there will
It be, neither yesterday nor tomorrow, not even today.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Ocean Seeping Eyes, XI

Being able to do something is nothing. It is not you
That ever does, but a softer, irresistible instant breeze,
Something happy and forlorn, a weird trustless trusting.

Deep in the zone of tears, who cries for whom? Is anyone there
At all while I swoon to the floor, as I taste the sweet salt
Dregs of myself on the too-familiar rug of an empty room?

The total solipsism of tears touches the feet of God.
Or so I think in prophetic folly of my pathetic
Fallacy, hearing the no of my own reason as a nod.

I weep over myself weeping for you. Personally I
Seduce each syllable of silence from the ocean, coaxing
It into vapor of unknowing, before distilling to dew.

To exit melodrama through itself, to dive. That’s the kind
Of appalling imperative I am following these days,
The general command of trench warfare keeping me alive.

At the end of the day, of life, of the universe, there is
Little impressive about tears. There is only the endless
Fleeting taste of a permanence that will not pass into years.

Please wipe your mind-slate clean of these pale rainbow hues.
Nothing was, is, or will ever be written on the black slate
Of this soul, another do-less doer, a mere who knows who.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015


[from Ocean Seeping Eyes]

Do not hesitate to eat my flaming heart, fear consuming
Its golden ember fire. Nothing will alter its true substance,
Nor defile the whole of which it is far greater than a part.

The world is a grave, this we always knew. Is there something
Else here, wholly impossible to describe, a thingless thing  
Sweet and strong like the breath of a panther, ancient-new?

I see you wing through the crystal window, coming or going
I cannot tell. Still, there is the river of the whole vision
Flowing, a neither-here-nor-there total unstoppable swell.

That is why my eyes are swollen, why I strangle myself on
The breath of your name. Because all is far freer than it thinks,
Because I needs to lack the whole, deny-affirm the selfsame.

Please make poetry stop, kill it in its sleep. I do not know
How much more of this I can take, how many more tears
Blindness, blind to everything other than itself, can weep.

If only a way to spontaneous and omnipresent
Surrender. If only the whole would simply give itself up,
Stop cutting itself off from the glory of its own splendor.

Do not worry. Not antithesis, this is less than sub zero
Consolation. In a weird way that escapes me I am
Wholly free, in bliss, the indifferent source of all temptation.

Monday, February 09, 2015


[from Ocean Seeping Eyes]

I follows I up the mountain, unable to move. Now push
Me to where I may follow, roll me down to the steepest path,
The inexistent one where we climb with nothing to prove.

Heart-sound to heart and breath-scent to breath, I followed. Now beat
I on the black gate of my own mouth, begging it to open
Into an eternal eating that will never be swallowed.

Never think a moment I will forget. Nay each syllable
Of spoken silence will remember more than all, recalling
In utmost inner scream everything that cannot happen, yet.

Keep following your sigh to ghazal street, where the gazelles die.
I am there in the dust, on a breeze stirring the ghetto palms,
In the light now gently seen, not touched by all-too-human eyes.    

Keep following tears to the sea floor. There where boundaries
Between eyes and tears and thought and being will never exist,
Where extremophiles dance carelessly now, near life’s burning door.

Best to fulfill by escaping the fate of Lidwina. Best
To follow now the better worst, to outsurvive one’s own grave
And sport freely, far more astonishingly, like Christina.    

Still, I fear all this is only wisdom of a victim soul.
Good thing nothing is mine—paradise against my will this is,
A walled garden severing the singular into the whole.

Friday, February 06, 2015


[from Ocean Seeping Eyes]

There is nothing worse than not weeping, for you. And for you,
What is worse, weeping or not weeping? Tell me now to yourself
What is really the case, tell me a silence—yours—that is true.

Without tears I see nothing—blank! Without drowning in that
Liquid invisible light, suffocating in pure silence,
There is only me, hooded and bound, inching along the plank.

I know you know all that these words plainly mean. I know you know
I know all that I want to say. And I know you know I know you know
All that stays unsaid, touching the razor loop of silence so keen.

So that not weeping cannot not open into weeping higher.
So that one only floats still further upon the spiral sphere
Of all tears ever wept, leaping like a flame from your own pyre.

This morning my tears took a straight line, plumb. No doubt silence
Drew it and would have split everything like Bulleh Shah’s alef
If I was not so thick-headed, if my heart was not so dumb.

One wept tear seeds a million unwept more. When the eye retains
The ocean, I will gaze worlds beyond silence from my pupils,
Closed all the way open, I will no longer peer from the shore.

For the moment, tearlessness severs—a dry torture tearing
All things from themselves . . . until now suddenly the spring flows
Forth again into vision, and all is well, worse than ever.

Wednesday, February 04, 2015


[from Ocean Seeping Eyes]

My eyes are submarine caverns, seeping what they cannot see.
Are your limbs anemones? If they are, what is the chance
Of understanding them, or ever again falling asleep?

There is also music in this sunken, floating tomb. It sounds
Like a spiral mountain, or a crystal storm, or organ fugues
Transmitted to an embryo becoming in Kali’s womb.

If only the caverns could talk, these void spheres speak. If only
My eyes would perceive all they project, see that they emanate
Every atomic galaxy—instead, they only leak.

There is no space for a real kiss here, no truth. For lifetimes
I grope through speechless caverns, finding less than myself to eat,
Tasting nothing other than the dull sting of my own tooth.

Still you are here, silent in the blacker cavern of blackness
That speaks a name. As if I care what anyone thinks, as if
Anyone has comprehension of what is never the same.

The drops that keep me up forever are like gems. By losing
Every one I will eventually impossibly win,
Namely, overflow with wine more drunk than Rumi for Shams.

Until then, you will have to listen to me. Or not, or just
Walk on, not worrying at all, much less about what babbles,
Drowning in its own breath, down near the bottom of the sea.