Dan Enache Poet Free verse

The Magical Science of the Unbounded Word

The Magical Science of the Unbounded Word
Poetry is liquid crystal flowing through dogmas shattered into stardust,
its immense space is an inverted ocean where fish fly through words—
the paradox: it is all that cannot fit into the imaginary forms of the mind,
its meaning is the necessary miracle exploding in unseen and radiant colors.
It is the promising advance, the prophet speaking in tongues of violet smoke,
in the magnificent play of shadows and lights of psychedelic perturbation—
the word rediscovers its real function: a green lightning splitting the carved sky,
man frightened by his own creations becomes butterfly in the electric cosmic labyrinth.
Poetry is a science of action, alchemy transforming lead into wings,
its techniques dance beside the great techniques of action like dervishes in trance—
the paradox: it is science acting through dreams and heavy kaleidoscopes from mushrooms,
and the connections it ensures are invisible threads binding galaxies in dance.
Thanks to it, people rediscover contact: the cosmic synapse pulsing orange,
but this contact is like fire burning in colors of sapphire and ruby—
like panic exploding into thousands of phosphorescent butterflies that return and leave,
like love pouring out like black lava from the heart's volcano on a wandering and smooth path.
Like water flowing upward through the veins of sky and transforming into living crystals,
like revolt which is a black sun illuminating the darkness within us—
like death that receives our blood and transforms it into cosmic wine smelling of lily and incense,
poetry is the magical contact between what we see and what sees us from something else, from another time, from another us.
In the magnificent perturbation where shadow devours light and pours it like honey,
and light melts into shadow and becomes the liquor opening our third eye—
the word rediscovers its power: a mantra vibrating in frequencies of jade and sapphire,
man haunted by his phantoms becomes the shaman of his own world that unravels and binds.
It has no form because its form is the infinite spiral turning into itself,
it has no figure because its figure is the fractal born from its own void—
the supreme paradox: poetry is all that pulses beyond the threshold of the coming mind,
the meaning of the necessary miracle revealing itself as a mandala breathing acid.
Poetry's techniques are techniques of magical action: gestures in air leaving traces of light,
its connections are fire-roots between people growing through parallel dimensions—
thanks to it, contact is remade like fire burning in the infrared and ultraviolet spectrum that dominates,
like water, revolt, and death that receives our blood and makes it stars.
Frightened man rediscovers his possibilities: becomes the vortex creating new constellations,
in the play of shadows and lights where the word becomes the portal between communicating worlds—
poetry is the promising advance toward new thinking: a mushroom growing within us,
the prophecy of a magical contact like death that receives our blood and makes it music.

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