snowy streets

I release a deep breath
unawares of anything
I’ve been away
weaving dreams
like a curing madness
the petty circumference of my desire
impels me to
not one finger
an inertia comparable
to an everlasting god
that has lived a thousand infinities,
in the deepest streets
in the coldest thoughts
I am a reckless survivor
dreaming in poetry
as a small pebble
tucked away
under the entire
of the universe.



I turn my head
after days:
the streets are covered with snow.



I’ve been unaware
like the boy
quietly placing a dot
after every sentence
of lyrical self-absorption:
the consequence
of being



nihilistic poetry

3 thoughts on “deepest

  1. That was amazing Pierre. So much that I relate to.

    Rather, he contemplated the possibility of more despair,
    More suffering, and more misery,
    As a cure for misery

    So painfully true.

    Are these your words?

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