Bernard Dumaine Sans Titre 2006

J. Karl Bogartte

THE SPINDLE’S ARC

La Belle Inutile Éditions

THE SPINDLE’S ARCJ. Karl Bogartte

Cover: From photograph of GrecoRoman sculpturePhotographer unknown.

Frontispiece: Bernard Dumaine. Sans Titre 2006Back cover photo: Jon Graham

All rights, duplications and transmissions are open and subject to speculation.

ISBN: 978-1-312-05802-6

La Belle Inutile Éditionshttp://labelleinutile.free.fr/index.html

Paris, 2014

THE SPINDLE’S ARC

"Given a light source and a spherical mirror, find the point on the mirror where the light will be reflected to the eye

of an observer." Ibn Al-Haitham

“While her clothes are burning, the dew is immense.” ~Jacques Dupin

“In every town I crossed, mirrors would fog up.” ~Pierre Peuchmaurd

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ey would sacrifice for darkness, offering turbulence.ey would surrender ghostly mechanisms and shiveringlimbs, to emulate rain. To relinquish surface light, theyspread themselves as possibility… stirring the eggs intofashionable clothing and others, impervious to themselves,shedding layers with silent tongues. Claws, engaged…

“Touch me here, where the bones in this dimension growdeeper, glow and whisper...”

14

Nothing is natural, here among shadows, only the mostunnatural descriptions to force prolonged confrontation,out of habit, out of view. Scraping light off your face.Bathing night. Shaping anxious movements against themuteness of separation, to hold fast, shore stellar, exceedingdelight.

Ravenous drops of blood intimidate sacrificial linen,whispering, clueless but hopeful, churning out hallucina-tions among the most delicate to be found anywhere in na-ture. An impossible arc encouraged outside of time,night-bearing, a random glow among desperate risks.

A single gesture tears a hole in the silence of perception,pulls darkness and mystery out of a murmur, a tremor, anunorthodox angle, suddenly and without warning. Eyes es-caping the body for a battle of wits. A feral solution...

15

With quartz filtered through both blood and shadow,for the reconnaissance, engendering fire in the where-abouts. Casting sublime doubt in a medieval sense, scat-tering perception. You evade exposure throughpantomime, horn the entrances and assume ancient cellsfor morning light. In the clothing of luminous spores, youthrow words disguised as divining stakes thrust into a bril-liant gamble. Equations erupt. e structure of a fortuitousgaze conspires into embers. You are her theories of futureanatomy, for the possible uncertainty of an impulse to forman image that appears to remain anonymous, like aweapon.

16

Slowly dying insects power the molecular light of sur-prise endings. You are not waking without roots, withoutsipping blood, without that urgent female timepiece erupt-ing inside a bewildering city ever so slowly landing in abody abandoned on the highway, emitting sparks.

Light always travels in style, even in its sleep. A strangehat, a scarf much too long for decent departures. A mouthfull of precious stones.

17

Mystery spreads like pollen. Light, powered by thescent of sleeping women. Time is not an essence, but ashallow gesture, a change of clothing.

Nimble serum stirred up in the chasm, in the wordattraction dripping on the reflection, on the floor.Smashed with a hammer, this mercury. Interruptedbeauty that unleashes a barricade. Magnetic. Being ofash…

18

Darkness is a tribal chant. An affair of agitation. Un-thinkable germination.

Your opposite strikes up a conversation, offeringbreathless words that make no sense, unless apprehendedas interpretations for a worthy betrayal. Launching runeswith a grappling hook.

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ey might wallow in the arcs, licking down the pre-cious curve, eyes pinned for lepidoptera, whispering eccen-tricities, a very silent gasp. You fulfill the desert spaces,inflowering arc. e languid fruit of torches. A conspiracyof starry nights left unattended… Unexplained…

e endless gaze is the blindfold of certainty.

e murmur of perception imitates the rain. ebreath that grows heavy in the intimacy of outspokenfrenzy…

“Hush, the murmur…” and the ancient endeavors land-scaping a two-way mirror against an eclipse. Each to each,other for another into witch and whatever, and who goesthere… inhaling the eclipse, breaking the body into a lifesilvering with the landscape.

e condor-spouse tips the light in your favor, spreadsher gyroscope, and everything arrives at midnight. ereis the moon’s elliptical candle spilled in the shape of a veryslender trance when it cracks along the edges of a reflec-tion.

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22

Your persona strikes flint, corrupts the sea, misspellsyour name…

Light plumes in night faces, deep-seated image of your-self fleeing the scene, abiding in the vagaries of unthinkingcelestial bodies. ere was always the mastery of fire, thesense of figuring, the venus-ferruling contraptions for hun-gry quartz. How you define yourself. Without return. “Ihave no regrets at all.” Against yourself… Swaying of thewind’s bright arc, blood-swarm. When your breath is an-other, seeing…

23

Memory is that clock ticking in the dark, flooding theroom with pearls, setting fires in a way that enables a senseof pathos with long painfully soft envelopes addressed to“the way she walks.” A poisonous flower crushed betweenyour legs. A melancholy gesture, between shadows.

e intersecting trauma of a selfish glance is an impreg-nation device of last minute decisions, and when arousedto the point of no return it crashes into absence. Was it abeacon, the body targeted? e crossbow of a ghostly re-semblance?

24

Another word for interference, or apparition… An-other gesture for the incision of fire. A sinister apprehen-sion of time giving birth, re-seeding, grotesque beauty thatwanders among shadows. An aging space claimed by spi-ders and reckless contortions. And in the esplanade of abody tagged in the storm, a feckless version of ancient rites,the thought patterns of invisible access.

25

“I am the moth of your eyes underwater. e you of mycanals lighting up the you of equatorial slaughterhouses for ashallow wave, enfolding a sense of infinite variation in thehum of secret societies. e pressure of fading is immense andfeverish with tenderness.”

She would pose endlessly, it was her destiny, so pretty,almost corrosive.

Her messages were always too brief, but extremely po-tent. Electrical charges forbade entrance into the city ofwomen, except to phantoms. One must become devious…

26

e fuselage was filled with explosives, endless dawns,exaggeration of the vanishing point into primary dreams,fields of lavender and chloroform, jackals, hallucinations,nakedness, redistributed galaxies, the age of dark longing,tedious mysteries, drooling, bright winds, brilliant expo-sures…

Always the endless doorways, the grasping of illusions,and we were never alone, but for the language, we werenever enough, for the enchantment.

27

e future belongs to the assassin and to the bride intransition indistinguishable from a literal translation. Herportrait is a window dragged out of darkness and wipedwith blood. She is the knife splitting tongues to facilitatesilence with barely detectable movements, sliding into des-peration. Twin solutions of the bird of prey. Forked. Im-proper negotiations can be fatal without an impenetrableshield. Daylight is no longer logical.

28

It could have been a machine, but extremely sensitiveto the touch. You fear to touch it, yet its medium of pleas-ure is intoxicating beyond relief.

e long gowns growing out of the body, dividing thenight into triangles. Angles obsessed with exactness, to se-cure a moment of naked release. e onslaught of a con-stellation, bright as a wedge locked into place.

“I am the censor of your desperate levels, your skin crawlingwith imaginary light. I am your depth, because of your surface.I am your predator, extinguishing your mortal enemies… thoseridiculous denunciations…”

29

Between the daylights knocking and the evening part-ing echoes, the shimmer of long strides punctuates thegravity of secret missions. She is bound to the amethyst ofepic particles, insincere vials, a compass-needle releasedfrom any point of reference. ere are discernible fluctua-tions in consciousness, breathing out of tune. Eyelids lick-ing leopards, extracting sleep.

Killing nothing that moves, only when it speaks…

e silk of a spider and the threads of a woman anno-tate the first utterance of the sea. e loom that unravels agist of yourself, the rattling of horns, an aurora of grandmutations…

e shape your fingers glow in convulsive pointing. Tonever disappoint against unreasonable demands, graspingdesire by those hands that form your mouth. She knew itwould be easy, but “your hands would give you away…”Ageless yearning to spin priceless yarns, a tale told far andwide, to unsettle the likes and dislikes of more delicate na-tures.

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rowing mirrors the way one throws shadows. Aswan-like gesture.

ere is an analogy to “take no prisoners” and those fun-damental excursions into darker, deeper areas, and poisedagainst a timely conclusion. e impossibility of returningto normalcy. e future approaches from behind, when thepebbles of prehistory are found ahead, spinning. ere’sgold in those devious designs. An abundance of mint. De-monic gestures. Enticing consciousness to swim…

Your acrobatics are unknown and chosen without re-morse. You deliberate with precious elements, scatter star-less matter to illuminate distant relations, tuning the forkof animal words, arterial entrances. Silence is a fire, turningaround with sensations of howling, an estate of runes. Adesirable château, to beg for appearance, swaying of thewind’s bright arc.

Aggressive shadow, become secret, chilling, mining theveins. Against, and the grinding of sparks, aphroditing intoa scent, a shrilling splendor. Forging an image of yourself,against the mirror, unsigned. Acetylene torch. Erecting me-morials to each passing fancy… A skeleton key for an end-less morning.

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You enable the source of lightning, to force a sense oflight, enough of a reason to persist, for a season of conju-ration, to resist.

Knowledge is drawing your shadow inwards to ignitereflections in reverse. Against the sun? e negative sun…e dream is hideous across the street, without that glowinvading the disquiet of attractive apprehension…

34

Undercover, a banshee cloak, in a sign-language thatapproaches the explicit striations of transparency in time,fading on the run. One limb over another, the wing of en-chanted escapes, forming an indigenous and abrasiveshape. Lunacy never fails to amuse, follows with preci-sion… precious one, to delight in the coy backdrop of ascintillating lapse…

Mystery struggles to regain your trust, tree-laden withstars, creature-woven into wind. Circling. A royal shaping.Night-riding into what beauty is invisible and inviolate –e hark of a radiant passage, an axe to grind. A dark sol-vent mesmerized by light and river…

e emulsion is the silence of a question. e obstinatemachinery grinding out the evasive feminine, pooling indark spaces. Consciousness attracts the wind, lightning,carnivorous shade, the overt cataclysm of your scent raisedin the scaffolding of a long-haired psychopomp, a fawn-like gift-wrapping, in a theatre lost at sea. Your lineage,complete with chameleons and very sharp knives, whenthey quietly convince, to the phases of ambiguity, the idol-atry of your eagerness.

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Only the engendering, immense blood-work tickingoutside of memory. e spine is whirring through chan-nels, extending the curve outwards, jutting template ofendless particles…

Transparency, and fire, my love, and the erratic spin-ning of triangles, heavy with quarry and hunting tracks,the vampire thrust. Outside where luminosity dreams agift. e light-gathering seduction. A moving negativecompletes the grasping, while attraction repels light,spreading the body with a prism.

37

She has always encouraged you, by denying your king-dom. Both a shadow and a reflection, engaged… strangled,resuscitated. (Repeat if necessary.)

e long stares poured over the body, dividing fluidityinto elemental pauses. e seer flowering. e weddingmoves into a fiery chrysalis… e stars fingering into theearth. e machines begging for ignition… “Touching onlythat place where it is hidden away…”

You move away without meaning. Only the sense of anunusual occurrence. Maybe even a shadow lingering. Adrop of sunlight, a much deeper night. e shuddering ofan animal séance.

38

Firing blindly in the air, breathing glass... Conscious-ness is a vessel perturbed by furious whispering.

e messiness of consciousness as a fluid is unsettling.As an object it is conducive to being moved from one lo-cation to another. Germination is something else all to-gether. e heat is deceptive. Fluctuations are perverse. euniverse animates your body from inside. If you are per-sistent enough you can observe consciousness. But, only atgreat risk...

Always your movement implies a forgery of the dou-ble-cross, to increase light, moving to conspire appropri-ately. A mothering device hidden among fractures, synapticdecisions, "the way her index finger barely insinuates a deci-sive affliction" and "Oh, but she has not been here for manyyears..." Pouring gold into unavoidable cracks.

A recent future breaking ground, for the long-earedones, the ambidextrous ones, rubbing fires together for in-telligence, for crucial optics. Predatory radiance. e night-jam, stirring hunger in the doorway.

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e language of vessels, radical stem of star-renderings,formed by lips. e glimmer-reading of each ignited par-ticle, between eyelids, the imperceptible priming fuses…whose howling far exceeds the wolf in glowing, affectingthe edges of things seen.

Your left invariably enters with your right, smearinglight, to exalt insurgent auras in the gift of swimming.Compelled by vagrant sirens…

Beware the hides of a seeker, the cries of a less or not,the moth of a terror...

An elucidation of extremely long evenings, revealingnothing for the unwary. Nothing is the shape of a river en-tering from a great distance. A fiction much too genetic tobe real, approached at face value, not to be repeated with-out warning, making luminous the raptorial approach ofyour eyes. Feverish intentions in portraiture, an animalscent.

Your body covered with crystals is not sunlight but sur-passes in dimension even the brightness of a long and verypromiscuous harking of a shadow. Fluorite casts every sus-picion. It blows glass with envy. You often seem the mostfluid of creatures, a knife cutting a perfect facet with justthe right amount of pain, and pressure, passionate sighting,and the interrupted gasp that makes everything glow.Humming illuminates a dark musing, and severs...

41

What is lucid in your presence, however tentative, isthe attitude of transparency, in its active state, which is afurious refusal - not simply to mystify, but to remove alldoubts. e sense of nakedness violated with pleasure, anddisfigured with a passion to exchange places, when thelandscape intervenes. To visualize fire, engender it, yet re-main nebulous and orphaned by chance, and choice, firingthrough the ashes... e virus of a window.

e recitations of a slender coven. A sure-fire defiance of shadows.

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Language does not invent, it self-destructs in a granddesire for courage. Only your perspective matters. Beingmostly not at home, but aroused... Disguise is a loop beck-oning the hours of visitation. Stuttering with lynx, mercuryscatters venus, cooing and purring in the antechambers,merging with a sudden downpour.

Hunting in the dark, feeding the lamp-children.

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ere’s no excuse, for a scandal that’s fixed, for the lossof expectation, if you can still recall, every invisible thingthat comes to meet you and unsettle even the most intri-cate gesture. A source of beguiling movement. A desiremasking innocence with hooves and late arrivals. Only ifyou rearrange your numbers, urge tiny fires into forbiddingchambers, and allow her hissing to enter your stream. Sheworks curare into the words you whisper…

e elders fill the abyss with shadows. e seers are un-forgiving, the witches know for certain.

e distance between you and your emulation is ex-ceeded only by the claw marks on the door to your lastidentity, to the cluster of lasting impressions, ambiguousremarks, embedded codes, punctuated sighs, the rattle ofevening horns and the guards, drugged and dreaming. Youhave no plans to return. ere is no silence more luxuriousthan this. No meanings sufficient enough... Shadows pen-etrate words. “But, you will return… inevitably figured, de-ciphered, with other words, a deeper hunger, your bodytransparent as light…”

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e library is a vessel of lucid leaves crushed into apowder of dazzling configurations, accessible only by rainand mixed with passwords. e entrance is an impossibleinvention, cherished by isolated characters in fashionablecoats that glow in the dark, a moment of power welded toan unsettling whisper... at is an image to celebrate, insecret. Trust only your vulnerability.

Attraction is a brood of nights arousing triangles, set-ting fires.

“Teeth touching, almost breaking...”

Transparency imitates fire. Perception takes the bodyby surprise.

e mirror is more blood than an excuse for beauty,and given breath by desire, turns with equal measure thepassage into shadow. It is only the reflection that lives manylives in your honor, and keeps you alive merely to see whatcannot be seen. e mirror lives in you, feeds you with an-guish, loves you deeply...

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48

ere are warm flowers growing on that ribcage, withan axe to grind out sparks, between neurons and treacher-ous divides, connecting shades of identity and subterfugewith unreasonable exaltation. Night is wandering. You area sequence of solar debris and moth-faced rooms sewn intoa hazardous shape that could never be divided withouterror.

Your eyes crawl out of mystery, each time you shadowher presence. She squeezes out her syrup for an impossiblemanifestation of two-way mirrors, sea-shaped wheelbar-rows and sapping devices lit up to extinguish the slenderframes of your antiquity. A solution of flesh-tones to dousecandle-hunger.

e rapidity of a leopard's touch, the warm breath ofsleep interrupting a guttural gesture, a crouching glance,flaring into psychological pollen. Your presence is decep-tive, a garden of delirious stains. Conspiratorial balance.Otherwise, nothing moves. Nothing is without, a curioussplendor…

49

It is enough to make language unbearable. What is realexceeds your devotion, anticipates the claims of laceration.Breathe slowly while extracting cells, evidence and loftyperversions. A precise gamble. A life given respiration toflood major confrontations, like dreams... Nauseous vacan-cies, idiocies, the projections of identities forming a tribalchant. e sun invents your night.

50

Writing in the dark is swallowing light, a face ofAlexandrian spindles in fierce combat with rapidly strokinglynx, your image smeared. Fatal to the touch, throwingcapillaries. She is tantamount to a fire-glance, transmittingseeds that sting and flare up, warming the roots, a frictionof the foreground. A pathology of arousal in clairvoyance,glistening stains. Listening with rain.

51

Dawn is cinema, the mayhem of trapping jasmine be-tween evasions, and the slippering of lips dissolving, tosolve the game of wolves when poured as vanishing creamover the body… into seizures of light. e fusion of a fic-tive quality. e lingering, uneasy solutions.

Night, ridiculous angles. Glance, eating muses by can-dlelight, she is eating her placenta, by instinct, your pre-cious amanita… At dawn you are a translation, thenearness of another language, the flowing of locks captur-ing a sense of clairvoyance, windows of night-presence fora serum of words, a ridiculous corridor of invisible twins…You and you…

52

e body is magnetic in the phoenix-current, whenyou arrive and enter into what precedes you, sleep-liftingphrases, syzygy among strangers who never speak, whenlightning attends to a cluster of words. A rapid constella-tion, the text vanishing, into feeding…

at irradiating printing press strutting under a newmoon, light poured into lacerations the way shadows avoidclothing. Neither attaining nor simultaneous, only a rivercommanding your spine, never adjusting for similarities.

“I am a seizure of light years, animal moisture beneath theeyelids…”

53

e whispering medicine is the primordial grace of adancing spider.

Light is a body dreaming itself into darkness, eyes open.Lurid sentinels, basking. Disguise depending on the primalpose, leading hunger by the universe. rough the owl-dog’s gate, your image exceeds itself, antlers extended inarousal, waking into what passes for arrival. Self-resonance,the prow disturbed.

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e delay in your exposure is erasing the darkness thatprecedes your arrival, a darkened gift, a pretext. A portraitin the opposite direction… Departure is eminent rain, ger-minating eyes.

e body follows the persona of a more intricate na-ture, fills in the distance and appearance of distant planets,slipping under radar, trembling fingers, illuminated withsomnambulant gestures left hanging in the long mirror ofAlhazen… grinding light out of shadows.

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Lightning is a telepathic linking of masterful states re-pelling both the charring and the water falling. Fire is atrace of spirits using sign language for ignition. Origin isthawing out in color. Your images are phantoming in themargins, setting traps...

Conjuring of witches, of slender and secret bodies ren-dering exit wounds. Into the thick of honing an appearancethat casts no shadow, fire splitting into explicit erasure.

Your presence is deceptive, a garden of delirious stains.

56

Being lyrical without fear, is not without risk, but inpreparation to detonate. You become more than your ownmeaning. Waking is merely an incision of consciousness,an emerging length of waves, between yes and no, forkedwith a vengeance. A serious invasion.

And the mirror crouching for the kill, dreaming at fullspeed, in place, of executions, a conspiracy of invisibleshadows.

Dark and greedy, the always secret and ever vanishingbody of torrential mirroring.

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e nightly raids, spinning, a child’s face challenged inthe woman’s sleep-rattled hair, a skeletal wind, diamond-fixed, for a shooting range, a marvelous decoy in very darkpacing…

Trapping belladonna between the lines, between herlegs, between phases, to embrace the blindness of yourmurmuring, pushing out between her lips, the lost her-meticism of albino checkmates.

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She has not been spoken of for many years, she is my-thing vitreous and tapping pawns for tallow, she is quick-ening her fluidity, to divert and disguise. Light poured intolacerations the way shadows enter clothing, for only a mo-ment, or two, only a hidden space. A translation, forthrowing phantoms into invisible walls. She is myth-ratch-eting amorous, chiding brutal structures for mountainousbeckoning, to corrupt with pleasure.

Bleeding traces of sound, whisperings like tracks of alaborious stalking, a sinuous tract to fondle the cocooningIsis, tearing out the throat of a message cyphered with yourbodily dimension, awareness pushed into extremely haz-ardous renditions.

Conjuring of witches, slender and obscure bodies ren-dering exit wounds. Into the thick of honing an appearancethat casts no shadow, fire splicing into explicit erasure. De-sirable erasures compel entrances...

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ere is life intending sparks in a time-spring. A neu-rological landing site germinating pharmaceuticals shapedinto elegies or love letters intimating treason and scintil-lating defacements. A gradual discontent among suddenmovements, the uttering wing of mutant pauses... rubbingmirrors in a great fire.

When lightning attends to a paradoxical coven ofwords, consciousness deliberates its next move...

61

Animating the solitude of helmets intimidating night-hungry theatre. An illusionary pandemic of darkness,lamping, lymphing, crawling along the edges, converging,that ridiculous light from your body clears away whateverdebris resists it. Slipping into an unspoken “touché.” edead man’s bluff. A sequence of events not ordered by in-sanity of reason...

When the humming bird meets the whistling gownand the whispering twin is a bodily act of sabotage and apriceless position, the pathos of your whereabouts triggersmany fuses. e sun terminates in your eggs, sending neu-rons into the medicinal chaos of a simple touch…

62

Is the silence of a possibility the beginning of a triangle,or merely the butterfly of anguish? Or, rather, a group por-trait under threat of fading, a more pristine charade heavywith innuendo. Your reflection burning in the bath.

e philosophy of chance encounters between the edgeof humming and falling asleep at the wheel, and the lastcard placed according to each desperate longing, each un-veiling city and the erotic stillness of phantom discoveries,renders apparent an exact awareness of clueless ambiva-lence. e sun invents your night out of pure anxiety.

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“Who speaks these words that waken the deeper twin ofsleep? e window-face...”

“I am the light that strikes the eyes of beasts" spreadingthe distance into a lake that spins and coos and whispersin many languages. A perpetually unraveling thread. Aheavy warmth like a harpoon, or a boomerang...

64

Turning light into fire, darkness compressed into in-clusions, silence into the power of invisible numbersplanted and germinating into primal hunting maneuvers.“When you wake, I’ll take your name away from you andmake you crawl, raven-faced…” Stillborn evidence of a hid-den fountain, nameless tissue. Black and radiant coupling,shedding archetypes. She smears her blood on your face,filling in the blanks…

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What is that human space that calls to you, the effectof flares, that spinning arc of rattling horns? at holds youin high esteem…

Toying with consciousness, spinning faster inside your-self, when more than the landscape can endure, as separa-tion, there are the fur-covered triggers toying with theabyss, dawning shapes, shearing darkness into bones.

A trace of bones making aboriginal, lace of a landscapefor who by the threading and why for the image of an ob-ject, in a quandary of images… life held at gunpoint, asransom, held up by lanterns in a swing of rendering apes.

e façade of indifference implies a spatial devastation,the sublime instant of retracing the movement of arrival,an effect of rewinding, untoward bearings… A rendezvousof fog coats in a love-meteored field.

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e glow between living and ceasing to live, emulatesthe long-legged cascade in her whispering circuitry, thegaze of rain is corrupted film, caught in the act, disguisedby pleasure purring in gradually brightening passwords.e catapult of an unfinished sentence, turned to provoke,to stroke and latent in state, the light separates your bodyfrom its own darkness.

“I am not here, but reaching, pointing, slowly stemmedand cycling… I am drawn in through dark points, spreadinghunger for shapes. I am printing…”

68

Humming into shape, where she undermines, lopsidedin fragrance, the keepers of the ledges and the black sheercuts and angles driving through the eyes, while sleeping,to conspire against what you perceive as nothing, no lessthan a weapon. e looming is filled with blood. Nightshrieks… Your sigh is a higher status of awareness. emarvelous ledges are everywhere.

e violence of infrared under your skin, delving, intoa trance. Your mouth leaving ghostly imprints…

69

A conscious decision was Abyssinian bridal and nomde plume, and without mercy… when you shift your po-sition, to acquire fluidity. e lunar vagrancy of Lapidusin primal sifting, dark object of wisdom in desperate dis-array, twitching and aural…

You take great pains to introduce yourself, and thenvague out with ironic trace. e fresh cloth apprehendedlightning. She grows in your mouth, miming a distinct ad-vantage, a salivating wave. A portent adoption veils a regalstructure… It wasn't a feeling as much as a soft and dan-gerous almost imperceptible whirring, a street lit from un-derneath. In the corridors, she loves to swallow, “thatsleepless whore…” e moon waits, to fill the entrance.

70

Recalling the roots of a chamber, the hair-raising cur-vature of a space that only exists through the intoxicationof the hands. A metamorphose of scraping, loosening, li-bating, filling in the empty spaces, cutting along the edgeof sleep, splitting forceful inclusions. Only the slightestmovement interrupts the sequence of anatomy, erupting,shaping the next reflection.

Between your hands cut by eyes, stone-seeing in abreath coaxed into astronomy and bound behind yourback. Consciousness, at that particular moment, places aslab of brightness dark enough for the arousal of rain-shaped creatures too sensitive to defeat. You surround your-self with talons.

71

e scorpion-headed mannequin, your shadow strikinginward for contact with the natural world. e empty an-imated gloves shaking out contentment in the garden, eye-lids of entropy emitting seeds and slow rituals…

Deception is a lunar state of unconditional ill repute, aravaging stone held close and indigoed into a conceptionof fire rising through the body, facing the other direction.A lancing misconception. A cloacal kiss that glows, formsdelirium and foam, captures a last chance and flares out.You are the terrace that hurries the Black Widow into anidée fixe. Where your lips prevail…

72

Discourse is embalming in the alley struck blind byfireflies and written in obscenities. It was the code to anunlocking device that spreads the brightness of the darkones, exhaling the pinion-face and quail-film of the sacri-ficially bred touched ones, the pendant arced ones, theslow-moving delicate ones… And all on the slim chanceof a lam.

And your veins filled with panther dust...

73

Seeing from the mining light… ere are others likechambers, the numbers… Living outside the body harborswolves, when language is rabid with exhaustion, for the“caught-up ones” and the “entangled long-shadowed engen-dered twos…” Again, the intoxication of an ideal pose…e shadowed ones… e figures…

An embrace that turns one around into mercury, twointo an approaching mirage and three, unlike the others,pried open with your lips and aphrodisiac in nature… hardpressed to keep you alive.

74

Orchid, echidna, arachnid, other murmurs, mas-querading as acquaintances assaulted in sleep. With abright red stone. Leaping into position. To be fed… Draw-ing blood from a horse-drawn shadow, dispelling sirens amoment before climax, lost in translation. A grope ofcloaking devices, her key inserted into your lock…shadow-boxing in the butterfly alcove…

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Solitude is the inflammation of shaping the moon intoyour own image. An obsession is the unexpected dizzinessof an unbridled assumption. e almost King buries hisbones for the price of a heightened visibility, returning asuccubus favor wrapped under hummingbirds. An ex-tremely knowledgeable arousal that conjures its own inher-ent risk.

To breathe without error, arouse without speaking. Toembody lightning. e hidden dangers of opening theblackness of a crow with a lacerating scent, a dark flight ofshapes, stares…

If time is faced with crystals, space is riddled with bod-ies, your body flooding outward beyond each one of itsstarry membranes. Ridiculous facets…

e twin-pronged, night-fluctuating… and drippinglight for a running distraction… who separates for theLilith promise… You find yourself in the way of hoovesmemorizing shards, an ancient village raised out of smokeand ransacked. An apparent metamorphosis, a river underapproaching fire.

77

Less than who you are, but might be found, missing,spilling silence for words. She is the hollow in a splendidincarnation of artifice and disorientation. e desertedspace of bowing, taut compliance to a displacement of thedistance. Between the whole body, lover, enemy or double,and the bath, between the firewall and the cries of manynames crushing the separation. While she sleeps, pleasureis unfortunate and barely replicated, phantom shudders…

A sense of vagueness is the result of obsessive clarity.e absolute certainty of mystery prevails.

78

e optical illusion of a pathological response to sym-metry follows a passage of nomadic resolution. A senselessgift of shadows to unsettle projecting objects of attraction...stuttering in unison... thrusting in the doorway.

Evening is crawling with difficulty and erecting silenceaccording to a more intoxicating system of rapidly movingpersonae. You arrive unannounced, numerous times, agathering of footsteps conceived into a magnet, and un-avoidably contagious…

79

Marvelous chambers, driven into the sea, to spawn, un-expected gestures of consciousness...

ey pinnacle in the garden and fabricate spirits, grap-pling with tokens wrapped up in the radiant slime of merg-ing, and hiving, in dark corners. Sistered and daughtered…Licking up your breath, splatters, subliminal attitudes of afresh kill, sipping blood from parted lips.

“I swallow the ghost of your entrance, the pleasure of allthose dark windows.

80

ere is within reach a barely conscious shadow edgingthrough a triangle, with talons extended. A sense of ur-gency prevails. ere is the backward glance, and swanforging, a shoulder blade as pale in its vagueness as a gasp.Never mind the guttural intonations only hinted at…

How desirable is that darkness you feel compelled tosign, with your voice, your hands? Desert, or portal (inSpanish) emitting stars, underground lakes and obscenecaresses. e overt limbs of the owl in ovation, a dazzlingdissection handed down through the centuries without re-morse… She is always dying for your eyes… She is alwaysdying… in your mouth… beneath a great shadow… Andsilence in the wings.

81

"What is that human space that calls to you, the effect offlares, that spinning arc of rattling horns?"

“ere are slaves in Antioch that need tending to, and de-fenses that desire demolition…” Who hangs a tale wherepleasure resides? “Kings to kill...” Who’s to say otherwise?ere are only later questions to amuse.

Analogical cleavage gift-wrapped for an highly com-bustible ink that ignites the book of imperfect nights.Windigo breast-feeding into a doorway… e last curveon the left leads to your abode, the Heron clicking, pine-sapping, knife-wielding password. e fear of fading be-comes you.

82

e narrative? A fetching perversion in the colonnadeof exaltation. Soft, sticky fur rising mouthward into a pre-cious oblivion. “You cannot help yourself, my pet…” Anovice girl in the tumultuous stature of creature gemology.Aspire in the wings. To ricochet…

Even chaos is fragmented, by curious fingers, tongues,suspended in basalt and heavy with vertigo. In possessionof her cries, monstrous observatories.

83

at scent which unhinges the writing glimpse, topplesa sense of poise, obliterates, in the unsettling, elevating theelemental penetration. Disappearance, precluding, disturb-ing intrusions…

“I swallow the ghost of your misfortune, a pure joy…”

Hovering rags punishing theories, entering a zoningblur, a parallel pause tucked into a female chamber. She isthe smear tactics of a lucid scheme. e latent context ofan erotic silence. Precipice of a solar raven, solar trapeze,an often-quoted solar flood… Your attempt at whisperinginside of another, climbing backwards out of a dream.

84

e stroke of sun on the membrane of the long mirrorfulfills the lunar fluidity of longer nights, blatant intrusionsof an ancient dialogue. A free-fall into wondering, a time-lapse surrounding sound of women’s words falling, dropby priceless drop. A sculptural dizziness.e severe juttingof a heavy breathing, to polish the edges…

An utter terror, a lifelike message inside your demise.She insists on your discretion, or lose everything, evenwhere life is an unlikely presence. A shadow thrownthrough a triangle, a sense of urgency pontificates.

85

She is a fire drill, a deeper sounding. A central dousing,a fiery air. e ashes raising a woman in the molecules. Afire-grille… at surrounds you, passes through the appre-hension of your brooding, body-prey into superior illusion,being, brightest air, wind and spark. Tide-sphere, flint-en-abled, word-heavy…

You conceive of their isolation when absorbing all thatis perceived, for your survival in the roar of filling vessels.Bathing in mercury is another dimension of natural selec-tion, a distinct advantage. Spreading tungsten with eye-lids…

86

“But is it darkness, my love, or the radiance of a prismblack as the emulating landscape?” ere is the heaviness ofbleeding under the witch, a tusk of elegance. Primitivetorch pulled out of a dream, covered with scales and meas-ures, your interception. Her fierce grunting, capturing aface, enslaving suddenness. To funnel saturation, inducingcrisis. A primal scream the color of carrion under a starrysequence of last minute details.

“I swallow the ghost of your containment…”

87

An unavoidable caress, savaging for the breath of ani-mals spiraling out of control. In this there is the distillateof stroking for the Rapture of the Veil. A darkening animaltime, salivating on your face, deep in your eyes, from otherlips, exfoliating your body, slowly brightening your lan-guage, taking time apart, breaking words, raking the senseof touch over ashes, germinating in blood…

e navigator’s revenge, a secret landing site…

88

Incantation with venom, squirting stars, during thatdiurnal moment seemingly forever adrift, and then shestudies her features as if she were blind. e reiteration ofa glance that reaches and spreads, the mirrored image inthe velocity of continuous presence… You leave yourshadow to its own devices.

e wind understands your eagerness to rush with it,to surmount the craggy perfume of nearness, slopingagainst the freshness of a natural intensity. An alien swoop-ing that utters the sure anomalies of a salamander’s ten-dency to capture the force of a landscape, swallowing itwhole, your mythical gesture. To announce your destina-tion even as it dissolves and scatters.

89

e terrorism of an unstable word elbows the equiva-lent equestrian into accepting a shrill embrace. It’s a draw-ing. A flood of emotion. A Queen-aroused torch badgersthe consciousness of voyeurs unwrapping the presence oftheir locations in space… A loon, a lack, a lynx afoot,tucked into invisibility… “But, what does it mean?” “It’s onlya portal that stretches the desert into a mirror…” And thenbeyond, a heavy breath that forms your elder disturbanceeven from a greater distance.

After birth, a spark-yielding mist, a twice troubling andirresistible solution…

90

To relinquish a doll-like sustenance with an agonizeddelirium, you may recall the sinister façade and feel empti-ness, abandon and devoted frail maneuvers, but manytimes over… and know nothing at all worth mentioning.A Master’s shadow would rule over lunar pitfalls, and forenchantment there will always be the return voyage, thekindling, precise measures taken into consideration. To failis to burn even brighter. Arc-weld circulating…

e turquoise lady and the shadowy figures wouldcome to soothe your losses and haphazardly placedcolumns sunk into the shade of wins, dividing to form aseagoing chamber, as the women come and vanish, in theunsettling burden of whispers.

91

To mask the face for the body of lighted candles, is toflood the intricate needlework of taking control away fromthe deer-figure, replacing a dark slide, turning downwardthrough erotic procession. Word, figures. A light-figureprotruding through the time-lapsing of a secret writingkept hidden from the author. e figuring wolf intact andfanciful initiation ignites the flowering upheaval. Ambigu-ous in the darkest harlot-code. Or, between street and anx-iety, fogging the bridal tree, facing the two-way mirror ofarchival swaning. en the clash of helmets mirage intoweaponry.

92

To deploy the polar bodies of indistinguishable attrac-tions and repulsions, there is only the feral blush and thetantamount to perverse commingling, to even the score.To destroy the enemy.

Far removed from a scene, your fingerprints are every-where. Having no language to affect consolation, you neverspeak when spoken to, yet arouse without a word. Secretlylaying your eggs in silence…

93

e random hoarseness of a word unreasoning, a land-scape, of a portrait, unmasking an even deeper conscious-ness, surging, forging the curve of horns that clash,resisting. e night then, yours, it comes out in yourbreath, staining your lips… You form a dark sentence alivewith intuition, insistent, impregnated, spitting sparks…implications… e unseen is warm and glowing, and with-out reason.

Each dimension raises the tissue of perception, eachcontinues and sustains what has been and incites to beunder every possible variable, more than simply nights ordays undone. She understands this approach and the losttranslation. e black and white radiance of interruptions,the pandering hagiology of embedded quartz, the wise oldhummingbird fascinations.

94

“I keep forgetting the names, uprooting triggers, the flood-ing flash. Bent in an eager position, slipping nomadic as anecklace strewn, fingered, reflecting the sun, I replicate theopening of cracks spilling addictive sap. I shed the interweav-ing, spilling out, pearl-handled, dove-shaped intervention…I am your hieroglyphics…”

eatre of mutation, following the caress. Movementof the body following the hands, stillness of your shadow,eating her way out of abundance and annotation, a babeljabbering in Arabic. Priming the seizure, spawning againstthe current. La Mandrágora…

95

A tribeless hour, wandering aura, mirror within themirror. e moving glow for an excess of casting type,arched beyond appearance, a barely legible method in thewings. Her menses green as silk and next-of-kin, yourlapses…

Light is unreasonable outside of your body, struggleswith the lack of itself, invents, in a manner of speaking,words to excise, exorcise… phantom blood, bright lines,miming desire in a quantum visage. Light hunts for youonce again, throwing names at you, for pleasure.

e impossible gaze tearing your body to shreds, achandelier embalmed in the wax of galaxies, sinuous the-ories and obscene contortions as endearing as anything inthe animal kingdom, sleeping further into light.

96

A solace of assassins between the lunar cervix of hover-ing and the nest-powered voices that sooth in the preco-cious armatures, those creatures for brightness that loomand lathe each black word, your indentured negative, twincabinet so rightly awkward and foaming brightness. eaura roars, the wind tunnels, shows inward the winnowingtracks, and speckles even now the vast you of your essentialevasion. Your gift…

“But for the otherwise slender bodies, above, left, wherethe bees communicate their evening desires, and below, wherethe golden hour flickers... a timepiece...”

97

Amorous sabotage thrown from passages, divided bythe object of derision and desire. Fever of the landscape,endorphin flash fire. e mad flickering of anonymous at-traction, leaning against the wall, thrusting against archaicreflections… and memory, moving around in the under-brush, striking against flint.

“I am a seizure of light years, animal moisture beneath the eyelids.”

98

ere is a harsh alchemy on the tip of your tongue, in-vading the state of excitation and softly executed with un-avoidable dangers, displacements… Fountain of thatsecretive center, vanishing. A thoroughly chilling sense ofinexplicable delight, a meaningless arrival.

Your shadow thrown, pinnacles into a mistaken iden-tity, extracting a sunken awareness of regal disproportion.A lunar pelvis breaking silence into the hemophilia of anightly charade. Angular in auburn.

99

Hypnos is a shattering device. A tincture of warringpresence. Into each veiled night of watching, there is therapidly moving glow, the salamandra cypher, the storm-seed labyrinth. Beneath your eyes there is the anguishedred that dives into an ancient murmur…

Her name is shale with a minus, ellipse with a Z and acapital moment, cloven with a slender chance, driven farunderground for a parallel entrance that far outshines anycurrent theory… regarding a distribution of weapons, theshape of a lake that seduces your breath.

100

In terms of uncanny resemblance, a lush mating seasonand a distinct biology of overlapping, the au presupposesa tu and forms a portrait unloading all forms of resem-blance. ere is the quicksilver of absent footprints. Inlunar tense, a future pretext. A shearing trance...

A dust-bright glance of colliding analogies. And anawakening, to shimmer and roar. e inkling of a specialknowledge fuels the prowling.

101

Foraging through the cabinets of your shadow, whereprojected ravishing clashes with a dawn-like body bringingforth your optics heavy with the pollen of inexhaustiblenights. An acceptable ploy…

Fiction is cooing in the glassblower’s breath, now en-trancing to the left, invading the landscape, allowing forelegance to proceed unannounced. e missing link is arattler, a clear-cut crescent projector who strikes terror inthe annotator’s fabrication. A word for the wise is not im-minent…

102

e science of placing a locus securely in sight, for anendless translation, night perils into the rapidity of theprism that hallucinates your body.

A narrative follows the heroine, from the fire to thecontortions of a bathing ritual, extracting bones for a pri-mal intimacy.

103

e landscape comes out to play when the gamblers losetheir edge. All that is lost, having passed this way, severed fromblack and white. When you choose not to sign your name…nameless possibilities… beside yourself, a rebellious and shim-mering ghostly facade.

e gaze is perilous and inconclusive. Razor-bright inapproach, the raven-lock in the orchid-eater’s face...

104

Your body is an eclipse of magical properties, a multiple exposure.

A nightly desert watching to decline above all, unearthingthe cry, the wail, veiled in magnetic fuses. A marauding medic-inal sapphos of the old condition and the messenger’s aberrantvoice. Shocking the long-drawn out shell, into a form your ownhands convince into a mortal wound of radiance.

105

A body of starlight, a windup universe striking a win-dow, facing the heavy silence of a cobra-esque choreogra-phy. You are wise to the word, deep-seeded proportions ofanxious fire, telepathing in a pinch of this and that for anunlikely approach into crystalline and finer elements,haunting an unlikely frame of reference.

Presence, overgrown with light years, carnivorous for amethod of solitude and streetwalking, divining, capturingan unsettled distance. e motion of perpetual fever guid-ing distillate into a highly active state of ridiculous con-trivance, a marginal hovering, throwing magnets into thechimera of a passing fancy… is way moves there unan-nounced, subliminal leering.

106

Consciousness is the sleepwalker’s oracle. It sheds a hostof structures, tinkering in eyes that resemble and cling toan underground translation of endangered species. Exces-sive, austere and secreting gestures of a sublime luring.

Her shoulder blades cutting through mothlight andpleasurably stained with a light-headed circumference, ina greedy sipping motion, under a touched presentiment ofdevious presence. Leaving absence, to arm itself in your in-explicable warmth.

e interloper's delight, disfiguring symmetries. ebook of resemblances follows no fictive impact, only thevolcanic ash in the heron’s dialogue.

107

Heraldic containers, vesseled eyes. Twice the body ofthe two-way mirror, collected at night and bound, forpleasure, charred words of a sudden forking from the earth-bodice of a double-crossing.

Light is breathing through a night whining for a distantoracular pandemonium. Heavy sighs and bright wishingof colliding spirits.

108

Pregnant and suffused with landscape, the water-break-ing mare giving off sparks, outside of your dubious other-ness emitting rain and lunar tics, offering bilingualdisrespect, precarious being-breach teetering on the lacunaof reckless caressing. And the plenary in the lack of evi-dence to redress in another era, the she-lark and the phan-tom shape of the heroine multiplied by lightning and seawrack. e emulsion and alloy of your faded photo-graph…

109

e science of placing a locus securely in sight, for anendless translation, night perils into the rapidity of theprism that hallucinates your presence in a nearby field.

She is the unmasking, veiled with the hammer and theplumb line coaxed into disbelief as far as the eye can see.Heresy of the loom, darkened by witch-light and the ut-terance indistinguishable from slaughter, brighter than,more graceful than, and delicate, insurrected… An inflam-mable tattoo.

110

Proceeding in secret, lost continent, taking delirium bythe throat. You enable to disgrace into enchantment, as itwere, wolf, the operative word veiled beyond any reason-able doubt. Menstruating light, scraped by arrowheads,your significant other, balancing a radiant anomaly. Waterburning on stone, taut against a lucid contrivance.

111

Towards wood, a stairway of cells and hivepoints,moonlight in scentbeds.

An evasive window skittering across hot stone, axolotl membrane.

Projecting mannikins into mirrors, for the salamandersof identity...

112

e anxiety of a candle provokes a slipping through,what is not an articulation, merely a new contrast of a moreprimitive invention. An eel-song of merging profiles. Pres-ence ignited, with night intact, forging a secret document.An entrusted alliance. e purring of interruptions, be-tween reproduction and spectral indecision. Your boneshumming and clicking in reassembly, pivoting for a con-vulsive space. e cylinders of a senseless beauty.

113

114

Conjure, bright spirit. ere are spiders in the séance,and a cross-wire to open doors very quickly, for heavybreathing, and concealed weapons, and medieval sparks...that still wander in the early evening hours, even now, sud-den recognitions, desperate distinctions. Ligatures of in-toxication. e heaviness of light bears down on you,making waves...

A desire for cruelty presupposes an extreme sense ofchildlike wonder.

Interlocking armatures, erotic destination, under Kali-orchid, throne-like and violent in a manner of speaking.Locking apparition of thirsting pinnacles that key in thosehaunting illuminations of animated clothing, breathing an-imal structures, fast moving exclamations. An evening ofSiamese twins deeply embedded in an ever more intricatefaçade of clarity.

115

Dusk is a steal, “honed by Masters on original stone...” ina costume swindled by thieves. Between the ‘swallowingrubies’ that leads the procession, to the shape you enterinto when cornered in a threat, light-deep in nitrouschipped perfectly into many distinct arrivals. A stirringspine.

Covered in wax and launched spine first into an adversedialogue, your calm is a spiral clawing the agitation of mul-tiple fixations, identities, eager insinuations. Not one wordaccording to plan, not one accession to simple emptiness,not one law, only lightning, the edict of your life.

116

Under the cities’ grilling, l'arc obscur des heures, grind-ing out the rigidity of a single conjoining, harsh pinnaclethat speaks to you, glows in peripheral finery. To circum-vent detection. A phantom touching, unknown torchesdevastating the slender territories.

e Solubles in silent flight, wingless antipodes “placedone upon the other” were never without bringing freshweapons to bear fruit. A glaze spread heavy for identity…“waking… waking… out of light…” a fawn-colored gelig-nite.

117

Tearing movement out of glass, salvaging the epitome of a mad dash, the dreaming hound of a body-centered flood, pawing at supernatural entrances.

Fatally abrasive, timeless invasion, the sun is a reflectionof your shadow.

118

You are the other of yourself, the shadow’s brighter her-itage, dissolution astride wonder. Crash-landing into theexorcism of an impossible landscape. e spinning tableof somnambulant pinpointing. In light of all that resemblesyou, hovers to imbalance, compelled to devour… ahideous coaxing, to flower… e shadow of time, yourmirror slanted towards the sun.

After the fire, there is the melancholy of rapid vessels,luminous vessels. Longhaired fiery vessels and the invisibleones that struggle to destroy you and plant darkness inyour place. Black containers, sovereign extensions. e ro-tating spells of a conscious effort, the antithesis and the un-relenting amorphous loam. An enigma is the suddeninterruption, the unfinished cataclysm.

119

Instead of a precise rumor, the exhaustion of desire isthe revelation of a painfully slow altering. e flickering ofa vague sensation forcefully shed out of hiding. A capillaryboomerang.

A glance that flowers on the earth cannot be heardwithout that infernal fire whispering out of a darknessaching for your name... your name flares in dark clothing,for a word of precarious solicitation. Ennui, wandering,torch. A duplication of her lucidity. e wondrous silenceof a fresh kill, acknowledging crystal, to erase, arousing toassimilate. In absentia…

120

Mandragora piping, a dust-blown frame, a sputteringconstellation that remembers your bodily presence as if itwere only yesterday. A latent thread issuing that treason ofuncommon attractions for a hidden communion, livingtext, a force-fed signing, in waves. e tide, face… She isa fawn-shaped, demon-quenching sister, a surrationalschemer, this dawnspark and every dawnspark thereafter…dragged out into the desert to conceive.

121

Lacuna, the hummingbird approach. Chandelier, em-balmed in the wax of galaxies, strangers. e falconer fol-lows the moon full of evasions, tips the hat in the mannerof a rare Ethiopian moth, the most voracious aleatoricalmuser. ere is evidence of projecting arcades. e glowof markings and changes, and at point-blank range. A pre-cise and delicate nature, a dangerous background.

Invisibilities, among thieves, stolen. Light burning darkin the core of a tremendous gesture, moving as a tree ofbridles, groomed, filthy handling. A marvelous stealth thatimplants a phoenix, to surmount and triangulate. Abusedby witches, forcing doorways into tantrums, changing bynightfall into something absolutely dazzling.

122

She is always the evidence, that scintillating bannistercurved into a corpus de plume of plenary deviations. Shealways takes by force, dismembering migrations, heavy andswollen, bright and disastrous… unspoken wizardry equalsin estrus, in aurora, a short-circuit in spawning.

Into the familiar phantom, affinities of rappelling land-scape. Consciousness moves, watching, to being watched,to avoid, nomadic with intent to alter, conspire, into an-other, place and shape, crawling out of the fire... Your mes-sage: that you are still alive, still mostly filled with blood,and in possession of marvelous weapons.

123

To condemn and renounce, to fluid, for substance, andsustenance, to sustain far into background. Incognito, inobjection to whatever. In excess, to flood. Leaving arcanemarkings. King to Queen, scythe to X and the seminal sig-nal to scatter spores, disparaging remarks. Setting star-trapsin the marrow.

“Wait for me in the happiness of the hound licking it’seager prey...”

124

A twin-faced divagation, a Janus-sapling for an irre-versible arcing of the spine, spitting out only pleasureagainst the wind, in a word whispered, a furious disclosure.With the Gila, the wise filament, embracing the headdressof a telescopic seizure, across from a dream sequence stak-ing a claim. Where you are scattered on the lake, interrupt-ing the sun, remembered with lapses, auguring, numerousquestions dragged out of circles and an unrepeatable ad-dress. You were never here, only a shadow… a howling sen-sation, a drop of blood still spinning…

125

Sunlight is the result of wolves, not far from the trian-gulating bloodstream of intangible acrobatics serving tonarrate a revenge of statuettes, edging out of that unex-pected winning streak. Attraction and repulsion are revers-ing directions in the vertical linen of a wildernesslandscaping your almost effortless consent, to moonlightinside the empty orphan, the one who dreams defiantly,who silvers in absence…

126

A predatory dance, a simple adhesion to a vast networkof interlocking artifacts, enhanced by suturing. e win-dows are dreaming, measuring forms of absence and sud-den arousal... Equidistant to the Master key turningseductively in an evening lock, emitting sparks and seeds,and the rituals of bright birds, fluttering tongues… seekingliquids gathered by moonlight.

127

To apprehend a dark insane beauty, it is necessary toforget…

ere is no philosophy worthy of your body, which iswithout form when it dreams, lights the fuse, declares anuncertain sense of victory over exhaustion and doors thatrefuse to close. A theory emits tiny crystals for illuminatedmarksmen, consoling the alpha female in her dousing, sift-ing for gold and other arrangements.

To be extinguished, to be continued…

128

129

A narrative that discloses nothing, lacerates the wordveil and buries bright teeth in warm places, covered innightness, the moving glow, overlapping. You throw pin-nacles the way darkness rises up out of the earth, out ofyour sleep, your wandering, and without warning, the in-tricacies of desperate conjuring.

At wits end, she encourages arson. For light, she trem-bles uncontrollably.

e wedding guests assimilated into a figure of mid-night, rattling into acts of in-depth silvering, blurred fea-tures, edged by extreme clarity. You are the pathology ofher followers, only more obsessive, more resolute, raw. eritual acts of bright craving provide endless interruptions.e flowering occurs within an astrological sign. She is thewaking of absence, leaving the door open to sunrise... themoths, and the wolves…

130

131

e moment is untitled, mummified by convulsiveaberrations, when you tilt with instant grace, to exceed themuse. Your appearance of attending illusion, your statureamong shadows. You trace a manic disguise, hanging froma fictional ruin, in another place, a barely indifferent solu-tion for an obscene movement much too fast to grasp. Yourviolations miming outward those infernal nights of haunt-ing harlequins.

ere is the unbreakable branch, her evidence, resistingthat contrivance known only to those whose magical de-facements inseminate the exiles, wrapped in a breathtakingstillness. e scent of a wrong word collapsing secret pro-cessions, incantations.

Sphinx, moth, man, woman, candle flame… con-sumed, blown out by the wind. Nocturnal shiver precedingthe noire of extracting pearls, the tense of eerie confronta-tion growing gold in the gaze that opens in the hollow ofitself. Transcending the inside of a room, the level of a ter-race, the first real touch of antagonistic sinking into in-stinct, held intact by desperate elements…

132

Otherwise, there is light in the espionage of arousal, incultivated thievery, the clarity of an image of greatest value,a deep rooting. “Explain yourself!”—“Is it even possible atthis stage of the game?” ere remains only the muteness ofabsolute certainty, the marking of a savage inclination, and“You’ve kept your promise, now I can kill you…” and onlythe excavation fills the void with a ragged foolishness andendless whispering, facets, inklings, space torn to shreds,light bleeding for eyes… out of eyes, diving out of sight.

133

e name of the author is missing, the language alreadydismantled. Absence is a fire that joins forces with intimi-dation, to conquer the subject for an objection, rupturedhorus, reflecting meteors and the fatal analogy. ere is nofinal assumption, caged, in language when this is, will be,becoming, no word whatsoever… to desire the antler of anunforeseen passage. Only the fierce disrupting scent of ab-solute presence, arcing for shadows...

134

e outward arch settles with the inward curve andhovers, a swaying incest covers the fiction that begins any-where and takes you way off balance. e soluble hum-ming of gamine motors that avoid detection, reaching thenight above with the most delicate lures, and setting itsbodily functions in the bed of errant propellers for a daringcontrivance.

“Your tempting, the tuning-fork sewn into her mouth, pre-cursoring a magical strut, a wave aligned with a sudden half-breed constellation, a raven of dust, molecular introductions,a kiss that beckons a dawn-shaped contamination, a perfectritual that cannot be denied…”

135

Your reflection seeking a face other than your own, orwhat fears your body diving into a shadow that splits intonumerous arrivals, assimilation in a brazen field of totems.You assume a network of Mogollon footprints, solublememory of danger preceding the solstice of a door, or aword that manifests a perilous breath clinging to the wall,on the other side of the street, where e Howl of theHorn still sleeps, without a cover, without an introduc-tion… before the advent of the imprinting machine… aprovocative miming in the hall.

136

e pleasure of conjoining is in the extrication... Pres-ence arrives from a distance of many places, challengingthe corpus lucida of long drapes ghosting in ambush. Youleave a sign covered in negatives, antisocial behaviors, poi-sonous flowers, gender conveyances, temporary locking de-vices…

Hemlock and ether, medicines for night fractures.

137

e revolving body, the rotating scent, landscape in re-verse, and “Quickly now…” a face of plumes imperiled.Against whatever foolish constraints persist in crisis. Toconfront the fortune of reversal, sibilant as a row of knives,monoclinous like anything untitled. e wise grow wearywith mythos and antediluvian, clamoring in sects, numer-ical systems, bodies underground. e expanding of ap-prehension emitting animal liquids, to become pale,nightly and gifted: without a trace.

138

You are another reflection between a sequence of mir-rors, growing in rotation, in agonized light maintaining anambiguous sense of balance, spreading centuries of unrest,sparks under the skin. Lightning tears up the landscape,brightens it the way your eyes open, the way blood enlight-ens the desire for indelible motion and the growth of fire,your shadow tattooed into primitive language.

139

ere is beside a loss of consciousness, when the morn-ing swims upstream, the bird of paradise revenge to shieldyour tenderness, the mannequin pueblo that throws yourgravity into disarray. e lineage of nomadic tribes swing-ing from century to century, morphing into incendiarymirrors, your source, ancestry, powder cask, caste of castingout, arcane enabling of lava for an uncertain number, onan unknown street, for an unspecified reason, the glow ofbody, being in the shape of frenzy, undercover of darknesslit up by lightning. Always, everywhere a hazardous dryrun…

140

e chronologist does not know himself among theothers, only a partial glow in the wood: “I bring the sense offear, the long-bodied spectre. I bring your apparitions intoarousal. And I bring fierce inclinations to devour your inno-cence…” emulating the hasty retreat, then circling aroundthe here and there, defending an appetite for disdain. ereare no words for this assault, this mating season of inde-scribable disruption, a tyranny almost, a slight of con-sciousness spreading voraciously in the field.

141

You, bringing a precedence to an aching heaviness andTHE PERFECT NIGHT, the marvelous yawning, you with-out warning, to proceed untouched and cunning, the beau-tiful assassin, the germinal springboard, hidden in thedeserted courtyard, dropping into theatre, stretching in-digenous for a last minute solitude. A mired and primalamusement overflowing in ether.

142

e powder of La Phosphor makes a fine weapon for arevolving door, a facade of soluble presence, a minefield tounderstand your motives... in the night-foot hills, scent-colored lynx lighting up the desert, in the central portionof a dream, arriving in a conversation of visual disarticula-tion, dystrophic unveiling, black as fire as a disconnectedsense of wondering.

143

Beyond recognition, unstable children’s games, whenthe witch is on the tip of your tongue, coveted in nightness,the moving and fugitive glow, overlapping gamut of essen-tial desiring, your shadow passing through the ghosthouse.e humming sleeps, still humming. Murmuring dreams,still murmuring. You chisel yourself out of stone.

e latent catastrophe of a window following certaininvoluntary gestures, the drapery of curses forming im-promptu escapes, dazzling escapades occulted under glass,over ravens, through the Netherlands with infrared andtraces. e waterfalling is your implicit recitation, repeat-ing implicate. Burnt at the stake, to recall a sudden im-pulse, being lived...

144

Aspects of prediction, reasonably troubled, perturbingthe edges in a quandary of caresses to outline the inner con-stellations, fragments of silence to raise sirens, a species ofphantom to contain your body, intact and bewildering,and albino. e torn layers of a ghostly body, the necessityof an encoded species that forms the nervous system of allthat swims and then dives, jarring the bell, somewhere…“Your identities are revolving in the archives. And voicesamong the runes...”

145

Time narrates pinnacles, struggles with light separatedfrom its source, following the movement of closed eyes.Your hesitations wander off while you sleep, and they lingerfor a long time at the edge of a dark and ravenous cabinetof desires. A salacious object collides with itself, horn-gath-ering and bell-toppling, when the teller avoids the tale fordisreputable pleasures… renegade voyeurs filled withghostly remains.

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You kneel to prey, with the sentient “e” of an invisibleorifice, antlered in the middle, in the howling talismanicwindow… battling rams. Your arrival is the dress of silence.Your dress is the chill of unlimited questions to even pecu-liar answers, a balance of blonde and black solar oranges,prelude to a harsh body of language, thrill of the jungle. Acult field, placing bones inside a starless night. Primitiveartifacts of rotation. A native loss, déjà vu of gyroscopes…

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ere is nothing in language, to shatter is a veil, a bar-rier between what is desired and what is perceived as ne-cessity. She kins for the glazing to nail the gaze intocontaminating statues, for sudden movements. Impulsealigns itself with intonation to incite indignant denial withpossession, spelling the body of a raptured incantation,when you whisper in your sleep.

e Antigone of mistaken identities, the mandibles ofserene devotion. e windmill of what is vague and philo-sophical, when only her methods of unreason spring intoaction, ape into a waking state of reckless dousing.

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Rapidly spinning a ghostly yarn that covers like flesh,you soften under the cutlass, become rude and thrashing,hungering cocoon and against her wishes, that larval about-face. To regain each emerging retinal backlash, the levelingBak’was of her space whispering through the raining,dream, stain. e withering and torch of molting, the hys-terical patina of an evening stroll, forcing the quick ofpleasure in a wake of light, for such fundamental and pre-cious fur-covering. “Wake, wake… the walking…”

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e number of dimensions in a sudden spread-eagle ofdelight, the mirror follows the moon every chance it gets,she plays with herself, chasing your reflection. With caninedevotion, she devours the sequence of time.

e long gowns provoke a profusion of breeding underlayers of language, and eloquence, a rattling gate, the defi-ance of your hands, your heavy breathing, shudderingdown and released, declining recognition for an entangle-ment of hissing.

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e landscape flowering inside, the wedge, wound un-folding outwards, the disappearances, desecration of theimage, in the shaft of bright, we are panting, encircling, al-ways diving, to repeat ourselves… we are the tribal camp-site, the vessel penetrated, compromised, for desire and theburial grounding. A shipwreck of meaningful words…

“I can intuit the blinding strike of pure solar compromise,but I cannot accept only my movement unhooking from yournight. I demand the sense of returning to feed, and still morefeeding…”

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e stilled blade of recognition, your hawk-whispering,black spark of anesthetic that makes you tremble, to un-settle whatever pose, still, doll-like frozen, to inhale thelandscape, draining blood, inherited, distillate of perversegestures, mydriasis, fondled beyond reasonable doubt…Into the spirit of the emulation, disguise becoming solublein the profound darkness of the mask, the light. e silentnumbers of procession… Portals follow the moon withbarely visible aquiline features, whispering bones.

Landing on water, an equation of chalk, a vague corse-let of iron, turning oxide into solar debris, her mouth ofhallucination, backhand slithering of the lamprey stakingthe mind for a soluble entrance. e embrace of absence,forcing metamorphosis. You have not come this way be-fore, alive or dead, and only the half-light of a stealthy ar-rival…

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She avoids your spelling, revises the shape of yourbreath. You reject the equations of her solitude, offeringsalamanders and fiery glances. She slips in betweenepisodes. Your voice-over exceeds the limits of each se-quence. A somnambulant language, passages that disap-pear…

A name given to a shade causes a sequence of veils andfingerprints, when the act of resuscitation compels the lan-guage of others, other than yours, which enters throughanother.

An impossible dilemma, the mirrored image of an often deserted plane.

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Adhere to the sacred rupture, the ravens in your bodilyimage, descending darkness with unapologetic candor andslabs of memory invented along the way. e fundamentalelements still hunting and always stirring just beneath thesurface. Dressed in venom and pinion, you transcribe thestarry night onto more than willing flesh, plunging deeperinto impossible silence, the loudest wail. A constellation ofcontradiction, breeding through silence…

Sunlight is the result of wolves, not far from the trian-gulating bloodstream of intangible acrobatics serving tonarrate a revenge of statuettes, edging out of that unex-pected winning streak. Attraction and repulsion are revers-ing directions in the vertical linen of a wildernesslandscaping your almost effortless consent, to moonlightinside the empty orphan, the one who dreams defiantly,who silvers in absence…

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Your decisions are the result of shadows lifting out ofwater.

To reflect the sun is the loss of consciousness precedingthe animal kingdom. Your life remains intact, a luxuriousanalogy to a lunar tense. e language of feathers, acts offire.

e image always rises, seeking fresh blood.

Coming backwards in time from yourself, you remem-ber precisely the state of your departure and the sorcery ofyour ventriloquist habitations, sleeping within that firstnight of tender perversions and the slippery elm of fallingladders. You offer what cannot be taken from your imagewithout drowning… that droning invisibility of a sniper’sperfect finger, the musing of an aim, a target offered outof desperation, a kiss rising out of a throat, to light theway… A life that deserves to be ended, a birth like a rico-chet into mist.

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A predatory glance approaches the angle of stone, whileemitting the trance of a delicate spirit, among numerousvariations impossible to describe… A languid debacle in-timidates a distant clamor. e hum of fading vaguely re-sembles an exile into moonlight, to level the field.Magnetic gesticulations throwing paradox in every direc-tion, numbering each random disfiguring, and the effortis not to split the difference, to endear the hovering withbodily fluids that invoke, subdue and echo. Castingdoubt…

e dizzying rampart of your eyes, kiltering deliriouslyoff center, to a night of royal fabrics going up in flames, acentral narrative linked by synaptic monoliths and tenta-tive refusals. Analogy to a flowering pelvis without equal,the passage of reconnaissance, dipped in auburn.

Repelling, attracting, a wrecking glow… relinquishingwhatever control you still possess, moving the center ofgravity by measuring the speed of seduction with the irisof a continuous onslaught, and then thrusting deep intoinsubstantial contrasts, with no explanation, without astruggle to evade, a group of words revolving around aquestion mark, an irresistible antidote, plowing uraniuminto the book and the hypnosis of beyond the trees, goingdown. You and the landscape in the mirror, among all theothers… passing through...

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e impact of sumptuous details, the secret act of aslandering craft, shaping your lips into utopian proposals,fusing the ragged dress of an ancient star to the anvil of achildhood lapse into cobalt and tabletop fingering…Hands go deep into your eyes, further down into the body,grappling for blood, and light, and secret weapons… rais-ing statues against mythology.

To resemble anything, everything, to present as para-dox, the shimmering of your absence scavenging amongsilkworms and trembling, within her eyes of solvent, fixat-ing in a fictional state of warring, without eggs, slaughter-ing out of memory, sight unseen, the dissonance of thehawking, without wings, launching an invisible constella-tion of gestures. A parallel pattern to a dance, in defianceof conscious decision, speaking of the sun…

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You are a text on the tip of a poisoned finger, a stutter-ing before an unmistakable killing for passage, a mutationof utterances, a mechanism for musk that rings a bell be-neath your dark spaces. A breath of ritual slaughter…where the long ones rub kindling for the more susceptible,prurient ones. Scanning the immediate of an interpene-trating aurora, she sips, you, ridden and reversed, nightrose in a glowing body. Paradoxical springboard.

She is the observatory pointing out the difference. Anaboriginal spiraling, thrashing separation, darkness flowingfrom your mouth under a spell of waking. Sighted for acult field, a bonelike trapeze, merged with lightning…

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It’s not the same, the shadow keyed into the lake, a can-dle inside. Each fortuitous manner of portraiture sends aglow up your spine, pulling gold out of each reflection thatunravels, hardens into stone, as mercury mirrors, murders,raises magic, makes a woman, gates, shims, lessens, exceedsany choice of a random scaling, pinched between land-scapes, spread out, sliced and vertical in a wondrous senseof arcing out of your eyes.

e hovering Abracadabra of an exquisite approach,untouchable rigging between breathing and darkness.

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In the salt mines the union of a more diabolical naturetakes place ahead of schedule, in the forgery of excruciatinggestures, surface maneuvers exposing their roots in theword-womb, the kith and kin of subterranean marriagerites. e alias in the wormwood. Sienna, the perfect crime.

You are another gestation lit up by the sun.

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She empowers the moth by sharing it with the interiorworld that precedes an unexpected eclipse, filthy chrysalid,kissing. She mirrors in her gender, the ingenious force ofshifting gears, in the moments before an educated fire. Si-lence gives birth. A dark charade of ratcheting to embracethe hybrid glow of your shadow, scattered water-wise, laidto glow, whispers, ashes. Your body is burning paper, a bru-tal gaze, losing the thread of a text, an otherwise forbiddenequation that awakens your breath from a great distance…No longer just a memory.

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"I intrude, I place the mirror of my presence between us,dissolving between the brightest of phantoms. I rotate againstthe winding of your devious rapture, consenting, I ingest thosealembics that derail and contrive, to alchemical giving andtaking, coming and going as no one else, ever, always, unre-lenting…”

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Eurasian spindles, tuned into wolf-breathing, with giftsof lace, taunting words, warm animals humming, crushedcharcoal mesmerized by optical patterns that break up themorning sunlight with long envious movements. A parallelarrival by special courier, changing in the mirror, doubleaspect of a sidereal glance, twice the asp of a decisivemove… “In this fanciful thrust, you darken your eyes, strikingdesigns to enchant by force, taking out targets…”

Her death on the red table, belongs to it in rubies, theamorous fury, articulates throughout the scope of her pre-cious bearing among the nightmares of each photograph.In the ecstasy of your favorite portrait, in the melting waxof a negative approach, the earthquake and struggle forpower, chased by devious motors, motives or chandeliersboth rebellious and masked with anxieties, or then cometo life, startling and amused. Arriving from after, the pos-sibilities, the ram-facing, grasping onyx by her fearful horn,laying waste…

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e jagged rocks commenting on the water, surround-ing delicate intrusions, entering a higher level of distrac-tion, covered in myth and melting wax, the quai besideyourself, taking it inside, recreating everything lost outsidethe text… Concealed and extinguished, the rattle of ill-suited clothing, the shimmer of feet making haste to healthe distance between the mystery inside the mystery andblood from the heart, leading to the left, to evade the re-vealing… e owl-brightening makeup of announcing si-lence, enabling a secret luminosity.

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Your eyelids are heavier than stone, you enter watergoing down, flint for sharing, and “from here on in, themandrake transmuting…” an identity that cannot remem-ber your name. You follow the herons, or time follows thelargest birds, the brightest ones, and yours are the darkest.You follow your own, otherness, above ground level… Yourbody is heavier than an image of great unrest. Swimming,or sleeping… Dropping a fortune, a mirror, the guards…the timing is perfect.

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e heat from the birds drives you crazy, unfolding anamorous casket for the slender Gilgamesh (grafting soli-tude) via lacerated patterns of nearness, the ones that keepshadows from exceeding pleasure. From furies into lan-guishing, stealth into extraction, into graceful incendiary,into artifice and shipwreck… Mirror into muse for theconveyance of an empty vessel, inventing the shadow of apresence, the negative of an absent gesture passing throughempty rooms, manipulating secret matters. To be filled outsideways…

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Primal footsteps looting, the matrix portals slippingpsychological contortions into retinal slivers, your move-ments are precise, languid, ensorceled, developing thebitch-paw cloistering, convulsive cinnabar of deepest night,bearing, inwards, the blood of the text. Pulling sleep outof open mouths, gasping for light.

“I swallow the distance between you and yours. I vantagein disguise…”

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Having eyes to sleep, feeling absurd, spreading where-abouts and fabling in rich detail. You touch her face, turn-ing in light, while she evens out the flow, nightly read andrich in the lunacy of a sudden move, disappearing with acertain reality, away without leave. Speaking only of silence,whether light or dark, filled with blood or emptied. Lan-guage is an illusion on the loose... Believe no one outsideof the other. Trust the sirens. Presence is deeper in themorning hours, held together by a theory of dreams…

Light is the body, dreaming itself…

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Her lapis, an outrage of space. A tempest of stone, intothe reciprocating of dark vessels, the ones that arrive outof nowhere, spreading dark matter where your nature ex-pands, vessels disconnecting shadows, undoing your shape,dispersing joints into traversing pools of increasing aware-ness. Cutting glass against the rules of division, settingnumbers into motion against indecision, a dawn of excep-tional motives, emanating fuses, explosive devices. A long-since ghostly urge striking blind. You let her out to keepthe blood flowing…

Sign of the triangle, furtive, without returning, elusivewith an animal grace and precious, where the images areno longer false, the hands smoother in reading past thescent of a long-stemmed glance. In spreading, strangling…A painful hunting stance, haunting in a reciprocating mo-tion, licking mercury off the mirror, to see with the mouth,out in the world, alive.

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In light of fugitive dramatics, a harsh glowing sensa-tion, a seizure of symbols, the quicksilver of mute laddersand inconsolable companions. To undermine the wise anddifficult schemes of authenticity, you attach yourself to adreaming state, a projectile of mist… “But, whose likenessare you?”

What comes after light, haggard stone… she speaks,“the spark... visibly invisible...” Each desperate attempt toentice a crucial crisis, waxing Medusa. Hoaxing…

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What’s missing is the sense of not knowing a chosenfaçade, from the friction of even a sensible direction, theslander, the score, the shimmer. Rumors persist, while thedesign offers only a temporary gestation, a bloody revolt,an unreadable message, unsettling spirits manipulating thesense of nearness. Moving to blend, striking to confound.Assault. From what remains that cease to confuse. Wherethe wax-woman lives, lupine striations… e endless hag-gling, the candle-swallowing, dark eating, talismanic…

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reading each selection for acute proximities againstaggressive numbers, shadowy and seductive numbers, thosein the ambush and the clustering. To repeat “the shadow”and “the reflection” as often as necessary to affect an unrea-sonable glow. Where variance is the opposite window,opening the double-cross, throwing magnets to destabilizethe arrival of appearances. Where they are visible only inthe dark…

Vessel, optical Eros facing friendly fires. Spread so thinyou are resplendent in the blackness of the rain, edginglight, disassembled, as you spread your thighs and feathersvisible only to touh.

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A chaotic arrangement of bones inside of a starless ges-ture, a wiccan paw at the moment of refusal, pollinatingthe side of your face. You are the stillborn ritual of a hybridpersona, tipping the scales in the ulterior direction.

Your eyes propelling the pollen of panthers, leading theghost of a scent, sending messages, in a sense... to emulate aneclipse is the animal kingdom breathing on your eyes.

Perturbation, bright poisons, invisible key. To glow andpinnacle in a space, to tragic in a maze. Both sides of a tri-angle, the reverse of a circle and through the forest, throw-ing a forest. In an asymmetrical circular motion. Taking itin deeper, dressed in a fissure. In this unexpected condi-tion, in printing, a desirable luminosity.

Even in translation, your peregrine shamble resemblesthose constellations that make the darkness vague, severing,the arteries, grand art of the mist, that follows her shadow,does not follow, suffers the orchid, the riddle, the Veiler,scattering… Night, invisible twin...

Obsession moves with deer legs and a hackneyed clothof lightning, a vessel-shimmer moments before sleep. Aravishing imposition, pooling in a rapid storm, interveningarcane.

“ere were torches, suddenly…”

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