Drips and drops...

Drips and drops,
Clefs and staves and crotchets of emptiness,
An inconspicuous nothing from where the miracle emerges.
Listening carefully to the admirable lyricism of the phenomenon,
Whose richness and virtue are intangible as the language itself,
My thoughts dwell through alien idioms and conspiracy theories,
Through those other miracle we call mysterious,
Only to find the intricate roar of the namelessness,
And to drown inevitably in an anonym matter of singular consistency.

The slumbers of my brain are not allowed to descry the indivisible unit of thought,
That quantum of information that plays hide and seek with my discernment.
Tragedy is, alas, the form and content of the human intellect,
Bounded to an eternal pursuit which can never reach a single checkpoint,
Disgraceful is the human nature that seeks its very questions to unknowable answers.

Drips and drops are the subtle and almost indistinguishable flashes of consciousness we so rarely experience,
Running off a dead end tube made out from mathematics and sexual arousal.
It’s just like an ethereal arpeggio,
One we can imagine, conceive and plan
(Even smell or taste)
But never bring to existence,
Chained forever to a latent reality,
Perhaps beyond a black hole or a mirrored surface.

I hear echoes below the depths of the mind,
But they must be just a bunch of kids fooling around my frustration…

03/12/2007
4:20