vanishing time

I was born
and the world
could only muster up
a colorless blanket
     of Time
in which it wrapped me
…while I’m slowly
in its folds.

nihilistic poetry

4 thoughts on “starvation

  1. Time itself is a figment that the gods have sarcastically — out of cruelty and out of love — placed on the gates of life. To have to a perception of time is to have a perception of death and its timelessness. Herein the gods’ act of love.

    The fainting is a beautiful decay; over such beauty no word can hold sway but can only be immortalized in a way of life, in a “unity of artistic style.” But in a world which inward borders are utterly ripped apart, which faces roam the earth without ever reaching a still point, all talk of unity, of a line and a goal, are lost along the shores of outer/inner dichotomy. That is, forms which inwards have no bearing on what goes outside.

    What can a poet do but bemoan his destiny, revive the shadowy myths which breaths unite in the bosom of life, which eyes do not differentiate form from content, and which glory expresses itself in the unity of life.

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