An Excerpt from "Sequences"

-XI-

Sleeping echoes awoke
the voice within me
a place of confinement
the door was opened
lips moved inaudibly
internal but untamable
vegetative faces
of generations far remote
.intellectual musings
summoned by visions
describing shadows
wrapped on a nameless garment
which fell through two windows
and with a trail of affliction
ascended the staircase

-XII-

A ghost of indistinguishable consciousness
a hoard of old rags
a man vexed
with contortions
of face and body
consuming the perversity
of this generation
every morning and evening
his figure appeared
a strange echo
through a veil of tangled foliage

-XIII-

Shattered to fragments
as such
in a minor key
I observed
the throng
as an unintelligible thought
lost in deep alcoves
of oblivious sophistries
silent but for the unrequited
roots of the dying’s’
etherealized spirit
enduring through centuries

-XIV-

The sea’s shadow
at a window
not the gaze
of earthly immortality
nor without value
the dead rose
still fragrant
upon the floor
in the next alcove
a transitory diurnal multitude
ostensibly having existed
hitherto in vain
not without value
for better or worse
a drama
mirror-like
of which…
I cannot conceive

-XV-

Finding ourselves
again near the door
through which a darkened veil
concealed
a sepulchral urn
a broken hourglass
a thousand year’s
comprehension
essential to a matter’s
mortal undoing
and to approach
with deep reverence
the innumerable ages of futurity
the fragrance of flowers
the root of human nature

-XVI-

The same dark power
passed out of the door
lives
forgotten in death
decay and ruin
they could see nothing
yet a countenance lingers
in a lighted window
shadow-like
wall deformities
in a fire-lighted room
such varied aspects of mortal affairs
somewhat shattered
passed through…
outside of this space
this narrow archway
this little nook
in which to hide

-XVII-

As they vanished
from the door
to steal another’s
intimate effigy
intervals when sorrow vanishes
I pass lightly
to catch a glimpse of it
they seemed so near
a close embrace
a pathos interfused
a decayed past
all fallen into oblivion

-XVIII-

Strange fragment of morning
pervading the intellect’s vacant room
none will be inclined to lament
as a violin plays
strange contrasting themes
maybe a music
from disembodied times
a mere shadow
a specter perhaps
was it an illusion
to dismember

-XVIX-

The tide is at its height
cynosures of waves
beating at the firmament
as a narrow stream diverged
from the main branch
you hear of illumination
as if borne on wings
above the ground
though nothing remarkable
of distinguished
only a speculative terra-firma
and near the door
a spirit of what
could exist nowhere
possessed itself
in a kind of wounded allegorical aspect

-XX-

In philosophies of time
when some degree of silence
descended
and revealed itself
in the utter solitude
of destination
of termination
in an old woman
who bore a bloodstain in her heart
gazing
at the dead man
a pale ethereal creature
a ghost
who had lived
the consciousness of misery
in an actual world
unravelling
threads in the web
of human life