'original syntax' (september 2008)

when I fell, I crashed hard
through layers of verbiage
and contortions of phrases
until I landed on the ground
formed

moulded, a form shapes
through the assumption of utterances
locked in ancient unfolding repetition
until a new permutation is called on
to unfold

my legacy was told in the falling
from the universal
down to the rude necessity of happening
the tipping over the edge spawns
the original syntax
that seals untold tellings
from the catharsis of losing namelessness

Adam would be proud
every last subatom named
and the space in between
left void, excised of meaningful emptiness

'fiant verba' (september 2008)

ultimately, you are best
left undescribed
by my ancient philologue tongue:

a collision of sounds
shapes the colour of texture
and a smell wakening senses
to the tangible tastes
of lightwaves

I can feel you on my mind.
a blistering undefined
potential
freedom

I dare not suppose these secrets to myself
and reduce the confusion of inputs
to the bleakly two dimensional-
the things others have said before

something new
altogether unanticipated
eradicating in its presense
the old order of syntax

your allure, ancestral
a call heard over the aeons
always testing.
a call for a response

so how do I treat you?
as a wound left open
to be filled with the clumsiness
of centuries of stumbling phrases?

an aphasia
the lack of the right striking point
as I hammer out your shape in my mind

I have no way to tell of you
your patterns unknown to a lexicon
mired in a past that never knew
your name

I have nothing to say of you-
not for beauty, wit or heart
for you are a new thing
unknown
but

my mouth will open
and the dust of millions
will shake from my voice,
attempting.
fiant verba

untitled (april 2008)

Hissing.

A shadows rolls back.

In the future, a past will recede,
And ancient forms
    rise from a shadowy tomb.

History is born again,
And living lands
    are committed to memory.

Ears pop and bones sublime.

Is it time travel
To come to the present
Out of our own past?
    or a catching up?

Days tick
    and somehow the past
    gets closer.