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Poezii Românesti - Romanian Poetry

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Wolf
poetry [ ]

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by [zegnarfol ]

2011-06-28  |     | 



It was the beginning
And now the end
Of what is and isn’t ‘cause unfixed to see
That of it to always be
Untrained, unthought
Mark unmarked tipped transparent, unperspective sight

Spun black and white
Elements to the empyrean scattered
Bereft of meaning, mechanized
Self-induced being
Desire as a thing
Filaments to the infinitely fanatical cleave
Un-numbered shards of timed expression crashing against hard I
Immensity pursues the plethora of possibility
Thought pulsating, fetus emergent grasping

The quickened
Image without contrast
Eyes across pores sucking in the incomprehensible
Intensity in visitation
The spectral tender
Lighthouse of life
To the inevitable
Ecstasy
Rending
Beckoned to fatality

Narrow shaped crimson
Directive focus unbound
A fiat of mystery wrapped in the logic of being
Unmatched, the Omni falters
Soul as ink seeps to the mortal slit
And weeps the fecund soil

We are the breath of Chasm
Standing on nothing
Perspective null of the Abyss
We float
On something thought
Rising to diminish within
Melding naught friction to the Absolute

We stop to the flat
Smooth-hard, shining amber

Faces converge fluid to the chamber
Coalesce to reflection
Beaming to semblance
Yearning stirs
Dominoes of unfoldment click to consciousness
Embracing impossible
Existence of all and nothing

Bobbing distraction
Thoughts to fore
Struggling, tearing, breaking apart
Falling over and around
Thickening

Atmosphere incarnate
Artifact of being
Dreams the life of us

There’s howling in the distance
A light in the West
Shadow East
Rocks iridescent glow
In caves that tracks in time this shelter made
We ourselves are obelisks of stone

Rising flames darken the ground
The twin our shadow bound

To high-pitched laugh the howling breaks
Conquering space with ludicrous presence
Inviral path of inversion found
Out of inside to the out of ever
Become one with one with one with one
From which the many burst as one

Laughter away
From the mouth of the wolf
Suckling the breed of distance
Of nothing known
Into the night, vapors rise
The sweet morning dew to fall.

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