To simply say: “the crystal is a window” and someone asks “which window”
and you point to the left, “that one, the only one”

To simply say: “at night when it is intolerable” and someone asks “what is
intolerable?” but explaining is expiation

To simply state: “twelve steps” or “cold turkey” and then biting your tongue

To simply say: “vigil” “night watch” and then guzzling a glass of water (the
fizzy kind)

To simply say: “I sit and watch the dark” with feelers, the swollen yellow
hands, nails of mud, the face unwatchable

To simply say: “a condiment” “peppery night” knowing the eyes burn while
staring

To simply say: “watchfulness gags” knowing gagging is survival

To simply say: “observation is key” but the window keeps blowing open, the
stream of sound keeps flooding in

To simply say: “it appears I slashed where mirror & reflection meet”

come, the posture

                          folded legs     bowing throat in

.   .   .

white on white

window

                dot

shadow looks outside the broadcasted

             shellacked              dark

absence of sleep

.   .   .

the black square    cadence

                                          backwater

               window
               -seeing

doubly
          equilibration

 .   .   .

float
       beam

cool forehead wrinkling

despondent, alone,

expect mood to soften

it

bubbles up

                 from within

soul grasp

.   .   .

no sleep

             vigil

wash     feet soles white

with moonlight

shadow a peak

painted interior

           slow debris   collecting colluvial glow
                                                                              of night

                                                                              sleep with open eye

                                                       lidden
                                                       , roused dream
.   .   .

the corners of the black square keep me still

in the granular awakening
                                       rewiring pattern

.   .   .

when I could exist
                             immersed (without forethought
                                                                            repetition,          without

.   .   .

white window

on white night

black moonlight

trigonometry 

                  confluence of returning

thought

.   .   .

sleepless like fog-

horn,

bullet night burn

-ing city

               my window owns my

shadow

.   .   .

come
         through wakefulness          which iterates a veil

sore,

      the insufficient night cannot contain entirely
      my hours

              of looking

                         ‘parsed between measurement’

back on the glass
.   .   .

clinamen             lasso

I am opening to negation
                                     to the watchful descent of a drop from the inside
                       outside
                       a dimension,

                                        unexpressed

          the time it takes for me to sit
                               accumulated

                               a coalmine in each eye
.   .   .

midnight     inexplicable

erosion   unseen glass, come

strip the eye of presence   the dog wallowing

hoisted inside   the dog bark to
                                            the heart

alert with

              inch of will dragged on

.   .   .

night     I do not know      I subsist   

while being exterminated      

                                   when I could exist like
                                   a fume exist

                      in the dispossession
.   .   .

I am toward
pacifist

I nod    turn     hell blooms like a foot on
                                            a splinter       
                                 a squish   on     dead meat  

                                           I am toward   I move

in the motion      the slip    of grease

                                                a comet in trust

I have never        turned back      regressed

toward,

come

.   .   .

when staring at the void the constant

inconstancy emerges   the distinction as seeing

or making?

the distinction    as a kind of mindful diction

of usage

.   .   .

the void is braided & calculated

a star plaids     

                where the nothing is   

.   .   .

,
        notice

tubular way of looking out     so repressed

so
     unprepared       someone tells me “I’m a coward

for not wanting to die”       for this cause

                        for dying for

                                           for fearing the need to die

I hear the explosion      within me

who tries slowly to subdue

                           the wiring,     the reduction       to

want, appetite

but         what other dominions     exist?

come,

          what controls are set, established

                                                               in           ?

.   .   .

this crystal is in memoriam    as potential

as what transforms    enlaced from     form    to

                                          otherness

                     as being other than one
                                                        self

.   .   .

constructed   from     the tailbone

from the bottom’s radiance

                                      sacrosanct
                      a scab

                      that is pendant    too
.   .   .

cling     that motion that sticks

upon           ipseity     the observation

from detachment      which is      at times

a bellicose   attempt at holding    the    self

                                             open

                              turbulent

                 exposed

to         a parchment

.   .   .

a trace of guilt

                             historical

is also in     it    in momentous

                        turn

             toward

.   .   .

window       wasp 

twirling    in dusk

has small blood in it 

.   .   .

Is it simple

               to look

at one’s looking

            through impasse then    within

a mind’s enclosure    to sum

.   .   .

The juniper

                  lost of the tree

                  also a place without    terminus

            riveted in the jolt

                                      come            guarded

                                                              , in the speech

.   .   .

with so much that has been detected

          within the giving in of giving out   within

                    a waiting housed

               in braille drippings

                    so much for the looking into the empty house

           with dustbins

                    splayed like mountains

                    I fall a bit

              deeper

.   .   .
                    as when I come to the window

                    arriving in a blank

          the morning comes, moves   through my staying

when a wall moves

I feel it

as yearned impassable

                            a message        exists

               in this light
.   .   .

Lower the tunnels

over there      appraise the fence with the nether cork

spark

.   .   .

It’s a balloon & a bubble

I turn to

The bubble floats me away

into a float shimmer not unlike     certain codes

        for
           hell
   enistic

no hell      may travel      here  a soft swerve         internal

motion that shows

.   .   .

For turning

in it             the crystal appears

in telling     the crystal prophetic

What 
it says chars

in the saying    the crystal leaps   mushrooming

in the

          white trepidation    of rain           ?

                                            “It is raining”

                                            “It is not raining”