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Language |
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I
I long to speak a language
I do not understand,
one hard as stone against the
air,
pillaging vagrant spaces, piling
like talus and scree
at the bottom of sleep,
words like ravens on spokes of
dream,
the telling of my evil and my
good,
a hieroglyphic sheaf,
blazing out and in.
II
Run your fingers over my words,
resonate where falling waters
wash over leaving only presence.
Come close,
and tell me where the Euphrates
dips into the sand
covering silences.
Do not be loving,
for love forgets truth.
Hide yourself
behind the darkest thought
and dig with your soul,
gouging up commandments.
Celebrate the grub and worm,
for they contain the nexus.
Come to me in naked shambles,
glistening through ruins,
where the hoax of heaven
cannot reach us,
and the lachrymal earth opens.
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Evans Experientialism
