Parallel and Proximity

I had to stop reading~ Stop between paragraphs, sentences…sometimes the words~ So enthralled…so inebriated~ Terrified of some inevitable end…between the chase and pace of it~ Lost within the infinite of possibility~ A thousand translations, perhaps~ Paused within invocations of blue~ Conjured by words~ A drink, a meal, an interlude~ Eros, absence, and vista~ Unified unto the experience~ Transcending the moment into a blinding glare of white light~ No word, no metaphor…no page to be forgotten~ Clung to as close as breast is to self…incapable of separation~ Returning always to nurse of itself~ As if the nearness of ink to page; proximity of page to skin, and skin to bone would never…ever…be close enough~

Why am I weeping? In the throes of abstraction I touched upon forbidden truths…and perhaps those truths pain me~ I am a poet unworthy of such a name~ I call upon you: My untitled poem of mystery; of revelation…of absolute…of nothing~ Yet…here you are: My everything…my concrete…my tangible nonsense…my lie~ I adore you as pulse and blood; as tourniquet and noose~ My newborn…my deathbed~ My fragments of resurrection~

Wide-eyed and bewildered~ Starry eyed in any-case~ Agony and passion…unspeakable~ Nothing will ever suffice the intent of this expression~ I slay myself as unworthy sacrifice~ In the splendor and elation of morning sun…my blood of golden ambrosia~ To be so worthy as insignificant in this great process~ My true love…my absolution and envy~ My painstaking thrust into the deep unknown…finding bitter-sweet refuge within parallel losses of sanity~

~With me…of me…and still nowhere to be found~