Ancestor

I imagine you without your memories,
more abstract and dead
than zero—

living another life,
in another land—

less than a ghost,
so far
and yet closer—

that behind this glow
all there is
               is nothing,
intangible,
without a name—

vacuum of you empty
forever one day.

State of the Art

The fittest survival survives
blank and obscure,

a frontispiece
with nothing behind,

in theories of height
or abstract,

to charm wealth
without plot,

with a desire to puzzle
as if a master,

self-referential, private,
without mercy, never daring to be seen

meaning, to give something back
which grows, which sustains,

away from dull elegance
and bravura.