poems by Rus Khomutoff

This is not a method

 

O blacklist of preeminence

louder than life itself

countdown sequence

of aired mysterious booms

natural coction

the shadow of a shadow of an

obtainable new order

to bathe in the splendor

of lathe and labyrinth

as momentum grows

that bold and legitimate certainty

of endlessly repeating variations

and recollections that

erect their desire to exist

like a new sensation

articulating lifelong repeal

 

In this mode and vague notion

of a stay in your placeism

event horizon

a derangement of senses

dragging the echo

from the culvert

from the book of common prayer

eschewing the copula

almost like the pace of a dream

ordered fragments of a

disordered devotion

a space we can enter

the bareness of time’s passing

 

 

 

                       Differentia

 

An ebony reticence

a luminous maiden

in pure elemental blindness

an effacing plasticized sky

a steel wise lament

written  without meaning

-Ric Carfagna

 

To open the question

to wrest things from their condition

the nothingness of selfsame me

from mortification to titillation

in the realm of means

one can exalt the ruses of desire

this unknowing…

ravishing the cinema of lost stillness

this soul of breathtaking mendacity

a cacophony of tangibles

mere wisp of an untethered soul

 

 

 

Massacre of all whys

  

Vatic powers insofar as we exist

in the museum of absences

to live in the folds and fissures of

intolerable joy

incoherently rampaging under

meaning’s guise

on a throne of impervious shadows

peddling ideas of savage reason

twisting inexorably beyond

every self limitation

this serpent will consume itself

in endless spiral

until the one thing is left

is the unspeakable, the pure

today I will be with you

in the paradise of never having been

rapid release of a somber reminder

a ceremony of conjecture and

ushering of the unknown