Nightfall Metamorphosis – Surreal Digital Poetry (1996)
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I dream, with the precision of a marble sculptor,
Too much or too little, I do not know.
The art of suspending my reverie is unknown to me,
I absorb the void like a precious elixir,
I am enslaved by visions
That I hide behind my clay mask,
Like the masks of ancient theater.
Fleeting, volatile thoughts like Apollo’s birds,
To your health, Morpheus, god of sleep!
I fill your cup
With this dark wine,
With tannins as opaque as ink,
And acidity as precise as a line of Horace.
At night, I dream
My mask cracks, an imperfect statue,
Too much or not enough, uncertain measure.
When darkness envelops the world,
I die and am reborn, a nocturnal phoenix.
I rise
My thoughts regenerate like Psyche’s chrysalis.
I shed this bodily envelope,
Free myself from its tyrannical laws,
Find myself over there,
On that horizon line
Between the Silver Star and the Moon,
Composing with my thoughts
As if on a taut rope,
Sharp as the edge of a damascened blade.
I doubt,
In excess or with restraint, I do not know,
To such a degree that I lose myself
In the darkness,
To sink, to find myself
Chest and eardrums compressed
At the bottom of things
Letting the heaviest burdens slide
The heaviest secrets sink
Into this black hole
Vast and abysmal like Tartarus.
Air bubble
Words pierce me
Without my being able to grasp or understand them
I move forward with excessive speed
I persist
“BloodShift”
I suffocate
Longing to dream
To become intoxicated with nothingness
To dream of nothingness
To become intoxicated with dreams
It’s empty and inconsistent and
Yet
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