when eve was naked
she was ashamed
but when adam dissected her
she giggled
it tickled her funny bone
to find she was dying
into the bowels of
the great mother
another day lost
on the celestial cusp
the old mysteries left
alone, in the well
stone and cold,
indifferent eyes and
warm touch
still slithering
everything flowing
back to the source
memories in reverse
the curtain is warm
crawl back in time
destroy the source
of all agony
birth
DESTROY GOD
the time is now
the poets are ready
to kill him again
let’s kill God
please let’s kill him again
the games are too small
we need the old stakes
horses horses horses
like anything ugly
can justify
all this beauty
they’re digging for something
the excavation is going
well, they say
the pieces are quite
clear, the pieces we
are working with
have become
quite clear
crystalline, pure non-relation
burning between the gaps
where the hand slips in
an old friend
the mortician’s chisel,
new reason, with new urgency
protection, permanence of form
slipping
catastrophes, fold bifurcations,
holes in vision,
piss streaming down your leg
stoned, detached
poor poor poor
waking up
around myself
huh?
walking up
to a placid lake
yes, tranquility
wonderful
no beginning
no belief
it is said
om?
sorry, it already passed
they just forgot
kill who?
or whom?
is it who or whom?
it’s not a small point
points have no extension
they’re all the same
here and there
isn’t it great?
you can’t
get it
we need a new kind of gold
to turn into
to be
astonishing
the authorities, to
an idea,
bold intangibility, a
nexus of desire
defending antiquity
nostalgia
slow remembrance
no sudden movements !
ticking / twitching
spasms — ejaculations
everything in place
according to plan
the horizon of possibility
the (w)hole opening up
solitary? soliciting
stentorian ostentations
oh, it’s you
my faltering recognition,
forgive me
for a time now
i’ve been here
waiting
in anticipation
and now
still further
i can see
so what?
aren’t we speaking?
it came in passing, into
the words
the intention
of falling / failing
everything should be duplicated
the duplicates reproduced
and scattered
freedom, maybe
no uselessness should
go to waste
it’s intoxicating
more
of what we can’t need
knowing, what it
is to belie
make believe
circumscribe
the formless
private dream