Humbled Beyond a Word
(an esthetic poetics)


Almost asleep between warm sheets of time,
We creep and fall between the cracks of words.
All form begins to blur in raining signs,
Which spiral out and fly about like birds.

We enter night, and start a flight of sound
On ocean waves' relaxing blowing breeze.
Breathe in, breath out, we break from where we're bound,
Depart our head and float beyond the trees.

A soldier marching there amid soldiers,
We find myself upon a mount, climbing:

[Green leafage, canteen, headgear;
black sky, weapon, belt, boots, street;
proud patriots scale glory,
indulging identities
in city social mirrors—
I sink deeper with each step
in time fertilized beige sand.

I stop, rebel, turn around,
run down the hill naked, yell,
fall face forward to all fours,
and accelerate past sound,
gripping real earth and sea—
clear vivid motion; power
of fierce dove-eagle freedom.

Pulled away, flying sunward,
without a baby's care, I
search for control in my hand—
in the palm there is a hole
I traveled through for pure light
circled crystal lattices'
interlaced lucidity.]

A solid core subdivided up,
starlight refracted through a prism,
scattered kaleidoscopically by mirrors;
self-reflection, contemplation,
another thought mirror—
the gears shift and curtains lift:

Honestly, the last word is liar.

For a word
is a secret creation
of its own
forgotten foundation.

[the structures are solid here
and there is no movement,
closer to perfection,
eye am the flesh turned word key
lost, ego is time, action, and art,
a static barrier between
(a snapping back and forth)
ego attempts to emulate infinity—
fear the pain is death intense
(ripping down through skin
like shattered glass
the rhythm of the chill
up and down the spine
like a razor,
like a million soft
whispering voices
that swing to and from
the tree)
as ego loses its grip on identity,
the eye sheds light tears
(delusions are deep within the sorrows)
stretching through cellophane language
(love; hymen pierced (time)—creation)
the eye penetrates, ego emulates,
disintegrates]

A solid core subdivided up,
starlight refracted through a prism,
scattered kaleidoscopically by mirrors;
self-reflection, contemplation,
another thought mirror—
the gears shift and curtains lift:

Honestly, the last word is liar.

For a word
only serves to outline
its reality—
a blind guide to color.

[In cell biology,
I am here in this crazy poem;
I am home inside
waiting for freedom.

You have a key—
You can turn the lock.

I am here,
thinking... experiencing
the same world
with a similar heart.

I dream of kisses;
I eat food;
I need warmth;
I love love—

just like angelic animals,
just like you

who also live in a prison

with a key that only unlocks
the door to another's cell.]

A solid core subdivided up,
starlight refracted through a prism,
scattered kaleidoscopically by mirrors;
self-reflection, contemplation;
another thought mirror—
the gears shift and curtains lift:

Honestly, the last word is liar.

For the truth,
you must break The Last Icon
and become
Humbled Beyond a Word!


1989 (revised March 2007)


"The Last Icon":