Again the shadows | Wolves come loose from | fairystories | quicksilver | threads of saliva | drooling from their jaws, and | the amber furnaces of their eyes | (you can see | where men were thrown into | those eyes) || Not enough time | and nothing completed | Bailiffs | put your house in their pocket | you must make ready | for a colder day || It seems so long since you set out | for this moment | The mountains harnessed your awe | the rivers | haunted you with their flowing | Sheer numbers | confounded you | So many giants and so many strangers | and they all had | windows in their diaries | interesting ideas | on where to go from here, but they all…

Where now? | Abruptly | falling down a well of muscle and money | Bankrupts | desperate for a way out | stare at the sky, which | today | shuts its infinite doors on them | to one | blank | blue || It’s not that you’re irrelevant, but | your relevance is partial | just one | strand of fables in a tumult of them | how the days | are forged | how a pitcher of nectar | spilled into prayers | how the novel | was mislaid in a garden | Is every single train | in the world | leaving without you? | Is it so bad | to be forgotten? | Can’t you find freedom | in anonymity? | Such questions | keep you awake | at night | and the shadows | with their | nooses of emptiness | sway in the wind | as the wind | catches light, and burns | with the reflected flames | of amber furnaces

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)

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