Per Contra
Summer 2007
Plain Text Version - Poetry
deluge i
the bird was a burden,
and so was wisdom,
although less importune,
until the rip tide
of silence
dragged words under,
and pilings of consciousness
collapsed
into the oblivion
of the unconscious.
gods begin
in amphibious feelings
lured from the infinite
by fading light,
the dew-like dust
on the memory
of what might have been.
meaning
grows molten
in the cold sun,
awakening angels
from forgotten heavens,
looking for nests
in the gray clouds.
but the bird continues to fly
in circles of abandonment,
screeching wisdom as it is swallowed
whole by the sky,
while the wind carries its corpse
toward the light.
there was no resting place
on the shadow
it cast on the water.
it hovered like a ghost,
waiting for christ
to teach it to walk on water.
deluge ii
god’s voice
dragged under,
having lost ultimacy.
unable to rest
their wings,
angels were ground down
by the sky,
and pulverized
into reckless light. .
the grayness spread
in a shroud of clouds,
more durable
than any light,
more ancient than darkness.
let the bird take
as many flights as it needs
to find new land,
and then to know
there is none,
only the everlasting bleakness
of abandonment
in the ark,
where it must live out
its days until
all life becomes extinct,
and the faith
men have lost
will return to god,
once again free
to experiment
with the emptiness
in search of his own fullness.
refreshed by the deluge,
he will nest
in the ruins of man,
and create beasts
more miraculous
than any angels,
but he will never again
create the human beast.
deluge iii
pillaged by passion,
the temple of thought
became a ruin of words.
ideas are broken
like ancient statues,
losing their promise
of glory,
their meanings crumbling,
their marble pockmarked
by time,
shadow staring blankly
from their empty eyes,
their arrogance embittered
by dust,
the only intimacy left
in the inevitable.
fragments are strewn
in dreams
waiting to be excavated
like missing pieces
of a puzzle
that can never be finished.
but the enigma
remains intact in the tomb,
protected by angels
from forgotten heavens,
hovering in the passing wind.
words finally lose
their mooring in meaning,
and wander restlessly,
bricks from the babels
of the past
unable to build a future.
silence corrodes
them completely.
the novel thought
becomes a blunder,
true faith
betraying itself.
oblivion sinks its teeth
into the carrion
of consciousness.
death has shown
its primordial wisdom,
loss its fury.
one must have a clear memory
of fate
to have an afterlife.
deluge iv
the infinite faded
into a skyline of feeling,
drugging words
with innocence,
deluding them
into timelessness.
then the clouds settled,
crumbling the buildings
into mist.
the city became an emporium
of emptiness.
deluged by shadow,
it lost breath,
becoming a mirage
able to give meaning
to meaninglessness.
deluge v
am i real,
or is it only birds
who suffer unreality,
blithe
in the empty infinite?
rockbottom,
the sky unburdens
its innocence
in icicles,
dripping into slow mirages
of wisdom,
clear as ancient crystal
mirroring
the cracks of time.
i am no more real
than the embrace
that makes us real,
the purely real
a wasteland of losses,
courageous
possibilities abandoned
beside
the narrow path
of our intimacy,
rising above the treeline.
all is finally clear,
and the birds soar
effortlessly,
forgetting that we
are their prey.
deluge vi
eloquence at last,
in the mist
that hung
in the unspoiled silence,
glistening like crystal
in the hesitant sun,
my wakefulness lurching
towards the limits
of the eye,
urgency in every gentle touch
of light,
our intimacy spread
like a sheltering shadow,
adding majesty
to the birdless sky.
the dawn never lost its freshness
even as darkness labored
in the mind,
seeding the emptiness
with idle thoughts,
as though they were myrmidons
of meaning
rather than the waste matter
of the senses.
death hurried briskly
through time,
making every moment
the last,
and most lasting,
for each outlasts
my longing for you,
throwing idle darts
at your flesh.
one will stick
in memory
so that we can forget ourselves.
