naked night
 
naked night is a luscious
absolution as it freezes
stars dead in heavens
that have forgotten
why they once bothered,
 
though they have memories
scratched all over them,
the circle of interpretation
is Hermetically sealed again
in its forgotten closure,
 
our amnesia enclosed there
like a logical commons
stretched over each everyday
heaven we forgot long ago,
being dead men
 
again
 
  
the inevitable moon
 
the moon shines
smiling slimy
as a simile
i do not believe in
her reasons
 
she's alright -
a bit like life -
but i only see her
briefly,
smoking on the
balcony - a bit like
life, really,
not my kind
of thing
 
though, still,
in her void
night, the moon
sings
 
still
 
 
wrapped in plastic
 
we are wrapped in plastic
from birth today, and yet
the concrete that love lies on
is still cold enough for reason
to feel the charming burden
of the lonely bones
 
and the nightmare there that writhes
inside night outside us, interstices
between these loveless nothings before
and after the fact, till death unwraps
the needy meat that is a man - being him
is for those sad souls
that can
 
 
anamnesis
 
birth is just a nightmare,
or a faint irritation at worst,
measured out by the size
of the egoistic expectations,
and the humble tininess
of life, their incongruities,
and that ultimate insult
by uninterested time - nothing
to forget, remember, or hope
for, before, during or after
life, just time and always
night
 

God's names
 
we wrote all God's names on the walls
of our womb we lived in,
but paleonymics failed us
and most were misspelled
and they didn't all fit,
so we guessed at the best
and seven devils sat here this morning,
they were dressed in pedantic pessimism
and had dead flowers in the hair
on their bald heads, they were memory
and death, they were my friends