Wilderness

Being befuddled, dust and tumble

Down the road to Valencia

Half a radiance, like a roosted angel,

My pants, my pigeons, my puzzlement!

It is like gazing at a dwarf sun

Beneath the world of ideas

Where I live when I am not here

Checkmated with malice, with intent.

A voice without permanence

In the faculties of light

Naked pinks and naked whites,

That diabolical book of pleasure

Boisterous hypothesis,

A breakfast without signifiers, posed.

Time is a deviant of perfection

And the frail mind slapped

By memory, by everything that is not,

Building a voice without energy,

A permanence without substance,

Past remembrance, a sea of rust,

Always having re-begun.  Bitter

Tabula.  Spitting out.  Petunia.