A room, a carpet, are whispers: they breathe, ghost and birth. Their mirrors dilate another eye-in-an-eye, another clock not the clock; eclipses are not renunciations: electricity of air about to catch, a moment more and fire walks forward out of particle-spiral, burns frequencies swirling around us; if it lasts a moment more we are its wings, it reconstitutes us, we are condemned to incinerate the fibers of time: so we are the constructions of unborn ash, little by little sparks.

A carpet is not a country’s voice. On a path of asphalt, houses, we enter between walls of water, absorb neighborhood backyard fences, into the center we climb, the spiral of years today into colors, falling to the last burning ember. Mumbling shards, carpet flows down the night made of water. The one in suburbia, un-abandoned, covered in human skin, was a memory of collapsed dimension, into a point it became a home and entered a body at birth.

I am engendered, and the carpet, earth of this room. Clambering up the trees of tomorrow, its bark and branches: not knowing, pink-white eyelashes of noon-wind: doom. The carpet knows: it waits erasure of its inhabitant shadow, waits a new inhabitant, it waits, between inhabitant shadows and does not escape to condemning the industries of calcified time.

The tree, a goddess, the Mother. Hums: cars and traffic. Insects; the muffled whispers of blood, sunlight and its voice, pollen disperses innumerable reasons. Indentations: sounds of a world, a slight crack. Looking through, is that death? Face of another, owl’s yellow eye, absorbing distorted dark. Dark allegiances of night, the precipice for clarity, ebony, non-turning mass of indigo, crack splitting: snow exits from hole, covers the yellow-window. Snow: the cold dances on bloodshot earth. Light, light: the guts of time and dimensions. Year-mirrors, falling to earth reflecting, distorting. Sunlight: an air, nothing familiar, reflection-clouds of interior intelligence laboring through neon lights and cell phone signals; fierce trudging determination. Immersed in a multitude of trees.

I washed my feather nest body, watched the restless cities of human. Highway; wing’s silent slices memories from reaching lives. Mineral still-born drivers, families, gold-haunting lizard walls of screams; a beak that drills through space, hunger, precision, houses of dust, non-conceptual epiphanies during breathing. Pines teach: to stand alone. On this carpet; self of mine, dies. Later there were floors. One day, as if returning: a walk down the street, not to the growing-up I did, but light before light, my body: a sound. Air: speech of space, shades of ceiling, information of water-skin. Diaphanous co-existing time, places: the shine of windows’ dry mountains, grey embers, pink swelling sky, undiscovered gold. I hear an indigo whisper screech from un-torn fabric of darkness: syllables populate the wind. On its shoulders, empty grass plains, barren pre-existence of human. The cold: a large opening palm, hear sky exhaling space, its lungs, crumbs of time speckle down. The trees were foreigners who made home here. Abundant ornaments of a vase landscape, decorated in the shape of geese, pattered in the balanced weight of sunset and sunrise, a water drop, a pine cone, a memory. Many years: branches of blue expanse in open spaces between each limb. Light-squirrels between, over and through, blackbirds watch from above.

Roots are faith, their reverence: remaining; a person extends, confines of their skin, skin: confines of their body, what is to be within, within each within within each other. We are contained within. A body; the body of the other. The other: dots of light across night-sky. Trees once specks of dirt. Standing on dirt: height of the trunks. I knew death: an entrance, wind, the self, to walk as earth rotates. Learning from display of the clouds, roots of trees; reconciliation between selves and phenomena of thought: what lightning waters, evacuates my body.

Voices crossing moments. Voices with eyes: agreement between thin lines of stone and spring. Voices following lines of languages; along words of cement and creatures, animals and shade. A light: people approaching from the horizon. Our bodies speak, entwine: walk with wind. Full moon grass blades of river stones at thresholds of thin air. To name certainties of an afternoon in the eyes of voices; people of the storms; stones. Not of names: muscles of bark and limb. It rains, it snows, earth naked becomes naked wind leaving lives. Air made of moon, water made of sun, blue grass blades yellow blades cloud tipped thresholds of unnamed humans walking out of: people of the storm. River unravels from rivers unraveling from waters of death, life untangling; mud of the plains, drought and dust, lightning-trees, seeds of mutilated stars’ decay, between open fingers sprout between cracks, dry earth, fertile with seed, sap, poison, silk-secretions.

Lizard scales cover the walls of the room. Voices: flame intact snaking wind through night, snow falling, embers birth homeward, laughter of tree limbs, unbundles white-pink petals’ thickened sunsets, more sound than breath, more wing than beak, more bird than human: belly of light, eyes of light, eyes of the owl, water-flowers spread seeds upon unplanted wind, my body quartz; ear bent upon flame: the carpet.

Funerals will abound; skies of years which wind transforms shades, light. Trees may dream humans to watch them: humans may ask trees to watch them. Home not a place: air leaving light. Burns.

We don’t know where we are going; pass through a moment, pass through, to remain: paralytic immobility; nailed to the tree of reality. Seasons: weather of months. Winter: exhale of the collapsed year. Well-balanced dark and light; vibration, transparency, clouds of memory, dissolving sound crumbles into: syllables, to speak languages!

Quiet on the plains; a train in the distance; humans; black-metallic, buffalo-ghosts, the plains, stalk reflections of wind, shadow exchange voices, echoes. Through transparencies of cities and pollution; streets, highways and their entanglement; exiled memory; the species and their isolations; the neon of the grocery store; deformations of the seasons in the colors of sound systems. Through the meaning of a country’s name, emptiness of a vase, magnetizes eyes erases while watching. Circle. Now,

silent season’s cycle: a shadow with wings, clouds of sky. Lightning scatter of wings. We’re not far from talking (where frequencies become words and die then incarnate in density and fly into realms unforeseen). We talk; transforming pollution through thresholds of names and places. (Our desires move through walls of dead-socialization). The carpet has been left behind. Behind or in the distance? There are no more carpets than the carpet I sit on now. What waits for tomorrow when tomorrow arises? Desire: through thresholds: tomorrow: here. Light where light is not present: mother-experience, self, the person of a horizon unfolding from a horizon without thread, without thread the story dies in the room I find myself in. Neglected traditions, demolished heritages: in her presence, crying-laughing, dissolves: expressions of self-existing reflections: this room, these walls.

Eyes scatter: whirlwind of sound: spiral, horizons, humans’ perception, air of cities, highways; the world a butterfly identical to the world of cities. At this instant the world, its faces, its pollutions, its skies, this century yet undefined, transformations of weightless certainties, deformations of institutions, crystallizations of memory. Mirrors of the center of a collapsing star. The room sinks behind my closing eyes. Now all: insubstantial, vibrations of sound. Falling asleep: the air erases what it is to breathe: relentless clarity.


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