PROEM

At times poetry is the vertigo of bodies and the vertigo of speech andthe vertigo of death;   the walk with eyes closed along the edge of the cliff, and the verbenain submarine gardens;   the laughter that sets on fire the rules and the holy commandments;   the descent of parachuting words onto the sands of the page;   the despair that boards a paper boat and crosses,   for forty nights and forty days, the night-sorrow sea and the day-sorrow desert;   the idolatry of the self and the desecration of the self and the dissipa-tion of the self;   the beheading of epithets, the burial of mirrors;   the recollection of pronouns freshly cut in the garden of Epicurus, andthe garden of Netzahualcoyotl;   the flute solo on the terrace of memory and the dance of flames in thecave of thought;   the migrations of millions of verbs, wings and claws, seeds and hands;   the nouns, bony and full of roots, planted on the waves of language;   the love unseen and the love unheard and the love unsaid: the love inlove.

Syllables seeds.    From

OL

RO (A Tree Within)1976-1987