XI.

The scattered world is an unthreaded necklace.
Blue neck of sky remembers chinks and smashes.
To forge its word it takes a sway of blacksmith,
for breeding rains it borrows strings and lashes.
Love has been noteless since the notes were trackless.
Those tiny suns, they blazed in countless dashes,
uncloaking my awareness of half-blackness
in squibs of fireflies and novae ashes.
Skies tied my knot of heart and face turned salty.
Inhabitants of clouds went over showers,
and reaped fresh drops. I swear I hear soil’s nibbling.
The sting of poignant past was slowly melting.
Time grabbed emotions and attached small hours,
the wings to fly inside my ego deeply.

October 8, 2010

XII.

The wings to fly inside my ego deeply,
prepare yourselves for nine-gram-heaven hassles.
The battle’s riverbed has shriveled steeply,
loopholes become birdnests, voids sealed off castles.
The flight through temples makes my ego dribbling
with scents of knells in gilt and silent vessels.
Concealed my icons, they are not for scribbling.
Obtained them to unframe and left to nestle.
My soul is open as a death-old letter,
numb words keep nesting down in a thesaurus.
They feed their chicks with hums and mudras’ dancing.
I sharp the edges where the soundless matter’s
utmost thickset for eardrums’ museful chorus.
The sonnets launched out of the bow of sensing.

October 12, 2010

XIII.

The sonnets launched out of the bow of sensing,
a string vibrates while Scythe slims, honed by Reaper.
A gold tip arrow hits with mindful flensing,
commencing fire on the lips. A breath’s a tripper.
This flash of scream is born in throes and ransomed,
a Gordian count-knot on a branch of quipu*.
My frankness is a stripper, icy-handsome.
It knits a web and hopes to catch a sleeper.
See every knot as an old tell* and coda,
another “now and then”, waves’ lubrication.
We are alone with you and, a priory,
find all the codes to Heavens Heart, chant odes
to emperors of inner matrix nation.
They come inside; disperse its light in morae*.

October 28, 2010

Notes:
tell - a mound, especially in the Middle East,
made up of the remains of a succession of previous settlements.

quipu - calculator consisting of a cord with attached cords;
used by ancient Peruvians for calculating and keeping records

morae (pl) – mora, the quantity of a short syllable
in verse represented by the breve (from Latin: pause)

XIV.

They come inside; disperse its light in morae
and harrow Truth. Through capillary rivers
their ships with loaded wine and allegories
upheave in magma’s ways, pinch minds like slivers.
A heart is crowdless, avalanched by worries
with teardrops strong enough to melt the shivers,
see in the bottled seas memento mori.
By reaching bottom you can sense your liver.
A hoary light comes to a nave for prayers.
Up to a vault the darkness lost its meadow,
an organist spreads fingers, silence vapors.
Oh, my subduedness with fluffy layers,
I’ll hit your golden spot to scoop up shadows,
to jot down stillness on a piece of paper.

November 2, 2010

XV.

To jot down stillness on a piece of paper
I left some room so it could breed in circles,
wove gossamers of heart from moonlights, tapered
all sounds and shades. The darkness stopped to charcoal.
A silver-feathered voice used ears as scrapers
to deepen in my soul and crumb to sparkles.
My whole inside was emptied for this draper.
He hammered out a salty sense and darkled.
I tracked him down in my deserted credo
where shadows melt and time sips dunes of writing.
Oases on the move stay still, untainted
where hives keep words and honey for libidos -
a paradise for daubers. Where dreams are flighty
feel Poetry… don’t touch a word… just painted…

November 11, 2010