words

Forgotten poems speak of everything,
a vast body addressing the known
universe and dark matter,
a black whole of unknowing;
non being carries everything.

Spoken poems remembered
embrace self-consciousness, yet
faintly whisk the moon, leaving galaxies
untouched; eternity
remains empty of words.

There is no noise, it is
all noise,
and the forgotten supercedes memory--
source of wounds and pleasures.

Memory is awake with silence;
gaps of joy
when non-being forgets to end,
and ceases not to prattle;
whittling away the mind, and
the distance that is
pleasure.

Separation is unity
ever closer but always two,
and union swallows intimacy in a forever
of forgetting.