from obedience [maybe one day, during a point in time]

maybe one day, during a point in time, without a particular point in time, without a reference, a point in time without a point, without a reference, without a connection, when someone or anyone being someone, processes a confluence of points and lines, designating nothing, processing in a process, proceeding in a connection, between a connection and an operation, and an operation and a process, connecting the process and operation to a future, between, voluntary actions and tangential beings, being one of many, doing an extended process, extending endlessly into an oncoming process, into the whole of matter at the beginning of the process, proceeding to another process, beginning with an ending and ending with a beginning, the whole of matter at the beginning without a beginning and / or an end, but an endless string of events, endlessly extending throughout the whole of matter, an operation in constant conjunction with the innumerable outside, outside walls of brute naming, or external objects bumped into doctrines of fixed limits, the discourse of lovers as a discourse of lovers, a constellation of objects, thick in layered shades, embroiled always dwellers, always close to obscure, dreaming merging lines on diverging edges, in the pleasure at midnight sharp, where action is the action taken, where the chains no longer imprison, where there is a constant period in time, that is a matter of fact, in the now, being a period in time, filling a blank now, being now being constant, with a connection to the self, being unintelligible to a definition of the disavowing now, constantly installing sediment of then now, in a make believe intelligible constant, with the nonexistent already mentioned, that has no existence, in the shallow of shadows, in the tender canopy of sorrow, wedged in the future viaducts, at the margins, in the venue of morning, in the palm of one's hand, without resistance or insult, these with a blessing and buds of beginning, in the clarity of hands, in the moment of amino, viewing motion's emergence, emerging in all actions, in all object's inner connection, an object of original connection, without origin, a universal action unrecognizable in action, that is an animal action, that is rock in action, or an object action interconnected to the sediment of all action, no sham or quilt, lost on a rock, living with the suffering universe, suffering with the living universe, on a rock in a house, as a dog or teacher, as a double locked-down disconnect, grieving in fearful hunger, immune in the misery of others, living in past present tense on the geography of cross-town traffic, scrawling daily existence in the moment of being, in the connection of being, being without a specific point in time, being cross-town traffic, or a rock in the universe.

from Bharat jiva [the day shifts...]

the day shifts, we talk to each other the way
we talk to each other, the luster fades, our
bodies fill with sap, there is a shift, joy
reappears before another personal narrative
burns to a heap of citations, continuing in
complicated machinery, becoming blood
knots in space, both the living and dead
surround the present has been. I open my
eyes in the full force of fear and hesitation,
frozen in passing passageways with endless
permutations, subjected to violence, stupidity,
and love.

from Bharat jiva [running sadness to the ground]

running sadness to the ground
running sadness to the ground
strange though
I prefer to play with matches
rough ride midnight's helpless plea
under yesterday's lapse into
praying for an evolutionary jerk forward

oh body
washed in blood
and covered in phosophorous ash
spring me one last breath
filled with real remnants
quicksilver and lead
let me drink from your
sorry scheme of things

let me touch the spot
that bites back

[stories from across the ocean]

the broken pleasure of knives begin, weaves incompressible
intrusion on inescapable spreadsheets

I have a death watch count down, termination amongst the
swell of three-quarter fools who dance reptilian obedience

do not raise above the star’s subtle shades of lowered eyes
that shuffle into place

the flowers brown and wilt. the street turns gray. no sound is
possible in this counterfeit circus, only the faintest groan labors
out of something, like an organ swollen from so much marching.