Anti Ideation

Writing from the collection of poems Studying in the Mountains with the Kabbalists Losing My Mind.

I
the face we see into being
in the faces of others
a proof of truth
leafless in the why light
limbs why we were was
the truth of illusions

no snow on the statues
we were thinking
but things are different now
older, bodiless, less anxious to angst
the fingers, trees laced with crows

the others we face, see into
in truth of the faces
a light, proof
the leafless
why illusions or truth
the statues of snow

not thinking we were
we now are different things
but angst is an older body
a crow of anxious fingers
the being laced

II
give back the upward looking
gaze, the sun we’ve come to

we are strange movements
strange lights between us

everything changes under this
knife. everything dies. returns

from the white blanket
we enter dust, womb

not the sound of hope,
the motivator of men

the spirit of my sister in me,
we were lost for days

III
endless wave unending
visions motion
give this life
and gives

we are with all withholding
worms of the sun. hands
again this dream
again

om again, om eye before
the moment before the
the first architecture
of love

again. this city hisses
through the wind bending
trees when winter
was winter

the sun dreams of worms
exaltation and fingers
from a waving surface
above and below

first winds, the trees
have visions dreaming
the architecture of moments
washing

gave motion and vision, winds
make winter again good
on winter
again

IV
these letters caused were written aging again

this time bent will stray its coarse course climbing
up the will and spines of breathers stepping
slowly, summer softly in the rain and
hail know no end in sight and sound

a hiss across the surface earth and
the way away on the wind of backs
against backs co-lucid in the mist
weapon wept from the hills alive

the highest breaking sky knows no end
no time, no aging surface, no sound
of wind and hail and rain on the dreaming
spines of breathers sleep again

V
new day
new metals from
the sun frigid

wind. old skins await what whisper. there once
was once something translucent, air, a breathing
in the trees. huddled. shuddering slow there
was a name for places like this. this was
the way faces came new. when in strange
moments, blinking. names lingering. fingers
wring, know no wonder in the song of wind.

sweet smelling
hair. i remember
a moment

when in the lineage of truth coming in its
way. when in the way of comings. the
wait of lightness washing through there
were open spaces. through there were tanned
grasses. through there were stillnesses of sound.
why we were that way we now know a faint
light. passing across the shoulders of when.

VI
omens say what why was when we were
young. a passing thing, faint smells. i re-
member through spaces. wide open lights
drift.

gentle drift there was once, once. a younger
thing. when passing over we knew but never
said. the same number of what we knew leaves,
younger.

there were younger moments we know
omens, there are trees. all vacant. stirring
empty moments of then again
wonder.

of whisper, of once, of warring. weight, birds. there
a moment. wholeness of upheaval.
contemplation of then’s wholesomeness
before.

of a sudden, of moments, of warring birds. there
were hands that knew. know now. wholeness of
whispers. it was fingers once, it was up-
heaval once, a contemplation of now’s
weight.

by means of crossing, we remember, unspoken.
what in the way of times, we were once.
already past, twice the wiser of re-
membrance. what once was a moment,
again.

when in the course of time falls
the wind. in fall the wind. what fire
was, ice knows limits. wound on the cusp
of remembrance, greaterness still 
hums.

sun humming behind the hills, the sign
before we knew now is a good time
ago. wet lips. tonguing teeth, there was
a breath in the pause. steps were how but
no one.

VII
could ask for what was the wheel
out of true. in a moment the moment.
they were and it sang the trees

were as always. all always. as any.
strange moments of movement. tonguing
the scratch, winds welcome us under.

west again. sunder. never was a moment
of earnest human expression. as device of
sleep’s speech. wander on, only what west.

fingers slip time. looks lust motion. lips
shiver scent, sense what was. what was
that will be.

VIII
time is not enough, pensive whisper. again old verse.
aging sense. self-emasculating breadth. beneath
the trees. eyes roll on and on the horizon
reaching up to take back the upward
looking gaze. minutes mask the slow
passage of nearby waters. samsara in a
moment. it never was, beyond the surfaces.