lift up the glass
don’t drink
be one with the drop
under the glass
a miniature sky
swipe it with the hairs
of your arm
nostalgia from your mouth
honey on an elegant moustache
don’t laugh
your head is a surreal
boulder suspended atop a blade
be gone
stand under an oblique shadow
like a marble torso
pierced in agony
lift your fingers
five candles burning
with the oil of touch
you’ve been sleeping
while the days melt
into grotesque dozens
collect yourself
look around you
the invisible raw overtones
the cones elongated masks
perspectives as wide as yellow
despite its meaningless emptiness
I’m sure this is beauty
stagnant between two words
as it happened
sometime now
eventually never.



Absurd Modern Poetry

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