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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Weaving Your Sunrays I weave the rays of your sun with such dedication, feeding my nights with a certainty of presence; the shattering of an eternal instant, with edges too visible, the uselessness of our lives, satiated, blurred in the air, just so from now on, for an eternity, I may sometimes hate the opaque light—the temporary radiance, a living one— that stagnates unconditionally from beyond E-A-S-T, like a musical howl that recently killed us, in the north, yesterday's and the day before's ice, like a profane hymn—anode; your youths—silences, black rain whitening visibly; my old ages, which I will never see dying, unleashing us with weeping ordered in chaos; a new uncertain life will graze us, downstream, below— another me, from a recently past future, building with my sterile palms—a cathode of water. To any singular, inept giant, the incomparable mysterious present; shall I listen to life's life? all the more—in excess long ago… and yet, between anode and cathode a light-abyss still flickers, where the alphabet of flesh reads with droughts sonorous syllables; there calendars stop, greening from outside of space, and the south fixes its poles on a compass of flame. we part again—two strangers of the same early end— to pour into a whole cloud, flowing in diamond cups; sleeping, an organic demon listens to our thought with amperes, and the spirit, alternating current, extinguishes in the night. I forget you by the first name that will consume you only tomorrow, as if the past were holding the future at canvas breasts; and when the roar will caress us, wildly, the opening in our eyes, we will cry crookedly, like two shadows undressed in velvet— for life's life, my love, is only the silence from the fire of an eternity that, behold, we have forgotten and lost.
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