by another name, the nameless wood:
a strenuous monotony of being awake
where I could not go on
to the middle of a vision
to walk and go beyond
going to the limit
to hear only the echo of footsteps
in my viewless, steady tread.
i had no more lust for knowledge
even its branches
suspended even from sleep talk
to know more about my sleepwalk –
in this soft earth only secrets.
as i realised the senses between night and morning
into a chasm of names
but at the appointed time saved
to live forever
although all of us alive –
by a signal lit upon the sky:
a great blitz of seats
reserved to hold hands
falling into a minute that seemed like a century
ready to leave
although I would fail to say good-bye
and would be missed and miss-ng
a temporary monument
these temples I wrote of
now silenced as trucks crashed
into our last defence and all the eyes
could not devour in one sitting the sight
of so many;
you can still find me though I am missing
in a chasm of something.
He stands upon the grid,
Like hairy Cupid.
He rules above us as porn king
A model of international stardom.
He is to himself magnificent
As animal thing.
He does much, much
And wears a magic ring.