The words to say the unfinishable is finished,
once more detach,
deep snows, communistic nights, the sleep
of symbols against symbols, the incorruptible
and sentient glass.
Sub-conscious saboteur, the violence of your
mystery strikes a mind deprived of mind.
In eyes of sky-blue worship, to the
ambivalence of the bards, your aspect at the
whims of a murderous mirror. In the
language of a crowd I see you, as fleeting
as impossible, as culpable
as stone, a mind that strives to have no memory
recalls the crystalline,
the death of radios,
the ankle-deep discourse
of the scarecrows
and the angels.
An immaculate shepherd pitied by no one but the sheep.