Exhibits in the ‘Epiphanies on a Road to No Place’ Gallery

The Mirror of the Last Rite

They are hanging

from their own

Just now

the subsequent

How come?

“Time,” said the Pain Lords
“will not be denied
her tariffs.”

A skeleton crew
without its livery.

The colors of desolation
arrange their episodes,
their trade offs.

Nothing portends what it seems.

Something else perhaps.

Minimal urges, budges

across the spasm field
to something else

God send fresh Elsewheres.


Charles Stein, Barrytown, NY,  28.06.13


I am here
behind my crashed
watching a ledge
that has broken from me.

The orange sky
is sentient
and tinctures what sentience
is left of me,
looks through me.

He who knows Himself
knows his Lord. Selah.

Blue scales
scratch the snake corpse–
the watery element

We wait and wait
too long too long
for the noetic equivalent of rain.

If it come
will it soften my ledges,
scour my rust?

Yet here is my black iron intransigence,
the acrid insomnia of my lust.

Oh Draco . . .

This present moment itself
is long ago
Charles Stein, Barrytown, NY, 28.08.11

Unspeakable You

Oh, we were standing

on the left side

of the embankment

watching the “views”

fall like water

in the shadowy gorge

there was an elephant

and the ear of one, etcetera,

but the old magician–

something like him–


on the wall

attempting to haunt

his own paradigms

but reflections and reiterations

rose from the depths


erratic, edgy,

wind howls

at any given moment

Being has us

by our thought of it

as if the indenominate background

to all our jagged sculptedness

were the calls

of an infinite mouth

sustaining the pointed, grand intenionalities

of the mind we wore

when we were

simply ourselves

wrapped up in

credible histories

that the magician

on his balconies

were the product

of those selves . . .

as their signal operation

toward a grand displacement . . .

that he appears just now

as if to rise above

again, again

all his echoing scenarios

before dissolving

in the insubstantial coils

that long and long ago

had swept him hither . . .

Charles Stein, Barrytown, NY, 16.07.2011



we were there

at the interstices

where all that blackness

perpetually inverted

and now we are here–

light exploding through the tooth

of what strange tumescence

that the will to being being

indeed perdures


Charles Stein, Barrytown, NY, 23.06.2011

a nameless derivative

A nameless derivative

the median


we collect ourselves
from a timeless

vacillation and return

you must search
my mask
for my eyes

hath no
before itself

thus the instructive
of every sentient

to slake off the erotology
of attention

for that to which we are drawn
will fall away

until the jowls of hunger
the rivers of decrudescence

the hunched and muscular shoulders
that lurk and threaten in the mist . . .

Only geometry
remains to evolve
the archetype:

an accord of diagrammatic space

such that the blue jellies survive
the holy goblet–
its shape, that is, that is
more puissant than any shadow

ululations of blueness, silver, bublets
that might be eyes

below below
skeletal incandescence

enframing outline reenters the entity

the crystalline blackness at the bottom

the incorrigible

Charles Stein, Barrytown, NY, 2.12.10


the yin and the yang of me

The Yang & the Yin of Me


bird of paradise

Bird of Paradise

For a long time I thought the earth

was a bird, a blue one, wounded
by a heavenhawk or who
would dare to do that to

this bright broken business

and now the image answers information
it always does, one picture
spoils a thousand words,

nobody knows what I know
nobody knows the bird it is
the bird will be

savagely like a drunken sage
indigo-winged wobbling up
to be new

we hurt nothing.
We are only who we thought we are

and the bird thought too
but the bird was right.

Apocatastasis a feather fall’n.
Robert Kelly, Annandale-on-Hudson, NY, 22.05.10




navigation chart to nowhere (possibly bogus)

Navigation Chart to Nowhere (possibly bogus)

or the place itself

for there’d be no

aerial photography…

so certainly, the chart then.

The scrubboard whitenes, the horribly contaminated

puddles, wells and springs; the impossible concentration

of mammal blood, yours and mine included,

in bright sun

in May or anyway springtime the evidence

that instead of cloverleaf, interlocking crisscross

fat brush highway or outdoor parking garage–

parking garage. Familiarity and tedium

the last word of “civilization”

uttering itself.

The thinkers that imagined panpsychism

have their supposition or if you prefer insight

ghoulishly verified

in the point of view, not a point really, but the wingspan

of the last giant avian


over nowhere


without report

for a place to land.
Charles Stein, Barytown, NY, 07.05.10




german expressionism

German Expressionism

we were there

on the other side of

whatever side

it seems

that we were

(t)here on

the earth and its urbanity

riven, rifted, breaking

apart suave beauty, the ceremonial


pocketing his take without so much as a glance at

that which

he had engineered so gorgeously, egregiously

too late for that)

he waited for the griffens

to arrive, the hatter rat with the salt, the regal lobster


interrupt and entering

aerial view

the hatter magus also, his downward arrow,



And the savage masks are poised above his shoulders–

how queer those torqued horses, if they are horses

how lordly their deep savagery


and do we release our need to reprove the horror?

all parts and anthems

all cries

all untampered-with vitalities

all vitalities stripped down to their final rigor

all rigors unjoined

from their vital corporation

when all the eyes are just too small to celebrate

the happiness

removed from which

these dark and sumptuous seeings

are to be allowed their flows
Charles Stein, Barrytown, NY, 04.16.10




I´ll see you in my dreams

I’ll See You in my Dreams (03/10)




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