What We Feel Most Has No Name

We Are Surrounded By The Absurd Excess Of The Universe. By Meaningless Bulk, Vastness Without Size, Power Without Consequence. The Stubborn Iteration That Is Present Without Being Felt. Nothing The Spirit Can Marry. Merely Phenomenon And Its Physics. An Endless, Endless Of Going On. No Habitat Where The Brain Can Recognize Itself. No Pertinence For The Heart. Helpless Duplication.

We Exist With A Wind Whispering Inside And Our Moon Flexing. Amid The Ducts, Inside The Basilica Of Bones.

Duende I Can't Remember Her Name. It's Not As Though I've Been In Bed With That Many Women. The Truth Is I Can't Even Remember Her Face. I Kind Of Know How Strong Her Thighs Were, And Her Beauty. But What I Won't Forget Is The Way She Tore Open The Barbecued Chicken With Her Hands, And Wiped The Grease On Her Breasts.

Why Do So Manysettle For So Little? I Don't Understand Why They're Not Greedy For What's Inside Them.

Are The Angels Of Her Bed The Angels Who Come Near Me Alone In Mine? Are The Green Trees In Her Window The Color Is See In Ripe Plums? If She Always Sees Backward And Upside Down Without Knowing It What Chance Do We Have? I Am Haunted By The Feeling That She Is Saying Melting Lords Of Death, Avalanches, Rivers And Moments Of Passing Through, And I Am Replying, "yes, Yes. Shoes And Pudding.