I am Looking

At the looking glass

Looking at me

As I coast the shore

Of vertiginous reflections

A random provocation of amber light

A blond redhead

The cruelty in everything more complicated

Like falling asleep alone

Or Franz Kafka in an ally

Smiling eyes

In sensuous touch

Of naked sound

Taste mysterious pulses

Imprisoned yet unbound

Spangled light reflected

Colors that pierce the ground

While echoes of

Forgotten brush strokes flutter

Like a thousand birds all around

One moment, this moment

This scene, Oh! this freedom

Holding in the artists tender touch

The promise of a lifetime

How dark

My memories

Of The Moon

The ink thoughts

Of Oriental scribes

The Isolation of my immense solitude's

Find expression in words

Beautiful incandescent words

Energetic advocagets

Of secret fibers of consciousness

That block out a harsh and unforgiving reality

Who transform an everyday darkness into intense light

Words that are not complete unto themselves

Nor empty but malleable with relentless perspicacity

Creations mythical and radical that cast fanatical curiosities

Upon the clear and harmonious contours of the mind

Melting nerves and thought making concience blush

With contemplated reflections of paralysed silence

Imprinting multicolored words on an immutable identity

With elegant and capricious expression that brings a joy

They hide behind

A masked impunity

One that loiters on the lips

That gathers dust

While proclaiming

A nightmare of angels

Who haunt derangement

In startling blasphemous hullucinations

Which excite to the point of delerium

Who menace with grandiose examples

Which surpass all human capacities

Renouncing indisputable rights as heresy

Keeping their stones not cast, unthrown

Not utterances of unsolvable contradictions,no

He speaks to me, do you not understand

In incantatory language, intense, so intense

It creates a new heaven and earth

He speaks with magic words

Whose overpowering proof of authenticity

Is in their unawareness of my presence

And would that this be the status of my language

In a world wedded to nothingness this language

Creates a fresh reality that floats free of the body and society

His words are the occupiers of a new

Magical, passionate and transformative speech

That become an absolute singularity in the mind

Where time is stilled in cancellation to a complement

Forms the magical realm of reciprocal imagination

Forgive me please, please do

For he takes possession of me once more

His voice leaves the darkness

Where shadows dwell in silence

Dancing like music on the wind

Escaping a muffled winding sheet

Bringing a delicacy of tribute to my ears

With brief utterances that cram more meaning

Into language than any book conceals

Forcing a confrontation with unresolvable contradictions

That provide for the unraveling of a mind

Give me something lost

Something out of chaos

Not distinguished solemnities

With delicious incompetence

Of well meaning features

Both charming  and possible

No, bring me an uncertinty

At once plausible and disturbing

Such as would I discern in a puzzle

Whilst trying to find the coordinates of an allusion

A distance that evaporates in poignant lament

In a comical taste for the grotesque

That resides beyond the horizon of conceivable vision

With a more capacious understanding

Of implausible supposition

That would fragment a fake authenticity

Despite such choice by another eye

Yes, give me something out of chaos, please

Why is there claimed a prosperity of jests

That in loneliness a compulsion does denounce

And neutral expression declares war upon itself

Where an unjust obedience encounters misfortune

A mishap that leaves an extremity of borrowed disparagement

Shouting in a weary importance of arrival whose agency is false

Leaves me, leaves me with head buried in palm

Having conversations with my tears

What tormenting love

What estrangement

Does mount a strenuous protest

In imagined transformations

That hover over this cast

This appalling malady

Enmeshed in a humiliation of confusion

That does give a loving dispensation

And by mericulous tongue

Restores a beauty to sceptical wonder

That comes into this world hand in hand

With love, not one before the other

What purchase to justify the elusive possession of human identity

In emulation of that which confronts by baffling order of habituation

That tangled interaction in breathless strangeness of the ordinary existence

Yet there is only daylight and that which is condemned to die by life’s end

Those insoluble difficulties that as such are confusions that resolve themselves

In a strangeness that is both touching and grotesque and ask a simple question

What is the self? What is identity? What is that which haunts throughout a life?

Only that of a masque which hides in mediocrity and grief another mask  

Which allows an awakening only to continue to live the saddest of our dreams

"Normality" does not imprison me

My life being not heavy enough

Is allowed to take flight

To float above the reasoned realm

Where revelations of the truth

Realized only by detachment devour my thought

Increase my errorless purpose

And so the stencils of oriental scribes

Like colourless shadows overpower my mind

Floating, floating high above

Adrift on an expanse of darkness

Presently that black ink

Raises its curtain before my very eyes

Revealing the stage, the illuminated stage

On which I am to set my drama

Where the phantoms of my imagination

Will enact their mysterious mysteries

A poetic alchemy

The earth shall embalm me

Trees will set root in my belly

And make sap of my blood

There will be vagrancy in my soul

Its embarkation on an erratic itinerary

Leaving behind a tainted and squalid reality

I shall mix with black and white silences

Those that migrate in the oppressed contradictions of dreams

It is here I shall succumb to violent wrenches of my imagination

It is here that I shall be beneath an impetuous but charming moon

Smiling

A wind blows like a wilderness of wolves

A vendetta, an apocalyptic vendetta

In its unpredictable, accidental quality

That swerves images of realization into tragedy

Neglecting all with swift intent upon a fallen fortress

In complected interests of caresses

Neither invited nor encouraged yet displayed

Displayed vividly with exclusive claim to that oppression

That howls by casting itself as a consequence of transgression

Upon a conventional expectation that claims a privileged sense

That persuades without an orator grotesquely amputated shapes

Extending extraordinary artifice as its priceless wealth

But who, yes who, has envy of so rich a nothing

What is it, Oh what is it that plagues my mind

Which rests its design in black melancholy

And perpetual lament

Producing desperate and unreasonable frustrations

And condemnations of grotesque obligations

Investing a relentless barbarism of lamentation

In that moment of the infinite pulse of inaccuracies

That raises from the grave of oblivion illicit ambitions

And by their presence embalms me with an ambiguous curse

That compels no rivalry or universal justification

What mists are these

That grow heavy in the palm

Making bruises weep

These mists that place themselves

By treaty or inheritance

With such ferocity

Embalm the soul with tears

Announcing their pleasure

To be resurrected

These mists that represent a tragedy

An imagination that beholds a bleeding

Yes, a bleeding from mine eyes

A conflagration of blood

That flares a collaboration of turmoils

With effortless deployment in the mind

Erratically as if impediment does not impose

Itself upon their mortal breach

An unresponsive pace that energizes

The tragedy of my great lament

What a sweet addiction overcomes me

An intoxication of cobwebbed lines

That cling to me pleading for recognition

Flesh that flops in fragile crime

That melts in sequence providing

Ashes that block my vision yet still my tears

It is a new beginning but I don’t know which one

I have surrendered to ungovernable impulses

That within my very existence invokes a great addiction

Oppresses noise and forms an intoxication of contradictions

They caress me with impetuous charms of dazzling vision

With vast silences that mitigate in sonorous symbolism

Exiled in my own reality, I see what I have never seen

Or only thought I saw I am now condemned

To see what has never been seen

A shimmering like the painting of a whisper

What little sunshine being recognised

Out of a storm flames approaching disorder

Building vast contradictions without impediment

Widespread in antiquity with alluring interpretations

Constituting mutilated transformations whose opposing

Lies stinking and fly swarmed, rotting at our feet

What shall I speak

What caring words

Shall be the attractive

Collaboration in destruction

That will bury me in my death

What shall I speak

That will illicit ambitions

And by their presence

Renew my sorrows

What policy what stratagem

Must I employ and plead my passions

What shall I propose that has unfrequented effects

Where the eye may behold an honesty

Yes, where a charitable tongue

May offer a delightful engine off thought

To cure this unrecuring wound

Leaving speechless the voices

Of unremitting practice

Who would raise their arms in sequence

To hear what I shall speak

Words so piteously performed

Enough to swear all villainies to spotless chastity

Leaving all words to abomnibile untruths

That would shame stone angels

Yet friendly in their blind complaint

What shall I speak

That you may learn my thought

What shall I speak

Unfettered falsehoods that lure by practice of pretense

Make subject to a tyranny of questionable inquisitions

That claim themselves both by treaty and inheritance

Pursue with a vigor blind narcoleptic dancers with a ferocity

That embalms the bones with the tears of a million fans

Who in such tragedy represent that image and behold him

His limb freshly bleeding reading his words in lamentation

Let me hear him, let me hear him

Whose tongue does emphasize

A drama of frenzied elements

Impoverished by ridicule of vicious energies

That try to shape coherent form

Between contending factions

Thus registering predicaments

In a tragedy of vivid language

That mutilates a cannibalism of words

Come, take my breath one last time

Whose kiss in eager presentation fits

And possibilities linger on my lips

Disguised as gullible identities

Who seem more real and equally matched

With whom they are contrasted

Producing tantalizing prospects of riches

That can never be retained

This is for you

You nearly destroyed me

With frostbitten

Prowling fingertips

And never ending tongue

I will not be the map

Nor Constellation of your

Permissible presentations

Or improvised gender constraints

You do not know me

For I am all the possibilities

That are, that have gone before

That are yet to come

I am a trillion blazing suns gently burning

This is for you

You nearly destroyed me

With frostbitten

Prowling fingertips

And never ending tongue

I will not be the map

Nor Constellation of your

Permissible presentations

Or improvised gender constraints

You do not know me

For I am all the possibilities

That are, that have gone before

That are yet to come

I am a trillion blazing suns gently burning

You won't remember me

A little white shadow of the heart

Who in adulation of wonder

Became une éternité de papillon

I wonder if the sky gets sad

Its common purpose

A different herald

Floating like an un-forgiveness

Its clouds, its clouds, its clouds

Waifs in white clothing

Breathe deeply in this silence

Stand, stand still like the thickness of a sorrow

Feel one’s own emotions, their intensity

Amidst the history of this great disorder

Where truth does not exceed exception

He who provides

The supreme ambivalence

An equivalence of contradictions

This trendy late adolescent

Who has a disconcerting

Dangerous quality about him

Who is keen and energetic

Like an ad for a fizzy drink

Am I the Rat poet

From an ossuary of ages

Whose words scurry

Along blind tunnels

Am I the Rat poet

Locked in counterfeit cages

Whose letters wander in deficit

With a majestic malevolence

Am I the Rat poet

Exposing counterfeit confessions

Of plagued and decaying text

Who hears the sounds of burning books

Am I the Rat poet

Who writes what you despise

Yes, Yes, Yes

I am the Rat Poet

Can't you tell by my listening eyes

The green fairy occupies my mouth as if in a dream

Senses surge past me in waves

Of perfect silence that torture the mind

I raise my eyes like a drawbridge

Getting ready for the fleet whose

Noise deafens the colour of my

Pupils

Overwhelmed the sky clasps

Me in a study and struggles to

Kiss my green lips

Aglow with blue beams its perfumed sun

Smiles and stretches me in the

Silk of the seas, where fish speak

With stars in feminine voices and

Ask my name

Floating in bliss I can not recall it

Only the selected elegance of History

Comes to mind

Oh once more for Absinthe, ***** and rhymes

To allow the steerage of my passage

Without pious pilgrimages to empty silences

That contain an eternity of tears

It graciously offers a coverage

For the echo of footsteps

Allowing the magic moments to come

To be part of my existence

Master of silence it offers knowledge

Of invaded consciousness

A Bedlam of paradise

It shows me in its single breath

A complete dispersion of the

Boundaries of my mind

And tears alone remain

It is true, I have seen it

Inhaling the silence deeply

I smell a lime tree in the Lebanon

Feel its solitude, its isolation

Tightly close my eyes, because

I can’t remember what it is

I have to forget

Vacant eyes with

Nauseating sight strut

A cruel distortion

A violent paradise

Of popular poses

That become a hallow

Antique night

Creator of recollections, maker of memories

Possessor of impulse, giver of echo

That rings in the ear, the sound of song

Of dance that rents my solitude my silence

Which is slashed like a canvass screen

Happiness pours forth unconfined

Unfettered,  I extinguish my light

Clasp my illuminations and dream

Lifeless beauty that lives everlasting

Time that reason cannot change

O enchanted torture you have stolen

The taste from my mouth

Masked I against the spectre of reality

Let them see you

Grin, Grin, Grin

Then reach inside your head

Look, behold and see

The new apostate

That incubates within

there is a stranger that I knew

perhaps you know him too

a stranger with velvet eyes

and dust on his tongue

A thousand words

Within me gently fade

As I write about hate

Underwater

For Underwater everyone

Sounds the same

Where is this? It’s here

Well more or less

I listen to the color of music

In so doing hear Arthur

Hear the candence

Of the colored vowels

Voyelles, voyelles, voyelles……..

And the world cannot contain me

Let all the masks confess

Shame the world

Let the bowstrings

Of love confuse them

The ghost of my eternity

Like a stone carved dream

Floats in blue air reflections

Of crystal mirrors

With lips untaught to smile

Already blind, stares at the sun

For there is no title, unless given

Surrogate thoughts on unpardonable parchment / A counterfeit of reason / The Bastion of idiocy/

The complete disarrangement of all my senses, myself my I

Is threatened with the bitter sound of uncertain rumour

That possesses an urgency of unwillingness

An incomprehension of thought

The improvised mediocrity of relished indignity

Asinine questions, absurd and ludicrous probing

Accusations and primitive propensities

The deformities of exaggerated obscenities

That blame and brand myself my I as mad

They have stolen liars tongues

A blackness drips from my eyes

Into a cataclysm that awaits

Strung out in the coal black void

Piercing sentiments of symmetry

Elucidating a journey

From the external world

Where I seek sanctuary for my visions

Before they are thrown, dashed

Against bare brick walls

The ultimate realisation of imaginative truth

Shattering in torment falling

Sprinkling to a festering ground

Proclaiming the dominance of emptiness

Pictures of shadows

Turn their faces from me

Words run away in fear

Streets are crowded with

Screaming squealing sentences

Squalls of colored vowels scurry

Furtive and fearful consonants

Collide in panic to escape

The blinding ignorance of 'normality'

Hunts down the paragraphs

Books, notes, letters are piled high

A bonfire is lit the flesh of words

Of thoughts of alternatives melt

The flames are stoked ashes fly

Spiraling into the air

A smell of bitter blackness

Pervasive and prolonged

A bleak confession to tragedy

There is a feeling that is capacious and transporting
I have no sense of loss I miss no-one, not even myself
For some unknown reason I cannot remember who I am
Everything is becoming most peculiar.
A strange carnavalesque atmosphere is gently blowing around me
Time has moved, passed, drifted, gone back,
Gone forward, gone down, gone up.
There is a tepid touch on me, I shake
Feel infinity of tears without inventory or cause
While the sun gives two shadows to one shape
I see the seven minute blackness of 2186

Dawn is a remembrance of night

That fades in the pretend modesty of piety

Punctured by treacherous daylight

Haunted by the gray spectre of complicity.

A blank spot enters my consciousness

A temporarily bright blackness

A blindness one receives if engaged

In an over prolonged look at the sun

A confusion hangs suspended

Now when I attempt to recall things

All I can remember is the absolute lucidity of this blank spot

This nothingness, a void of inarticulate reality

That exaggerates its intentions to consummate a separation

But never succeeds in its completion

This confusion however gives me a blinding clarity of perception

What I do recall is the realisation that I have always been someone else

The construction of a plural figure is what I have been trying to realize

Like Rimbaud I am another