contemporary poetry

from the periphery

I’m only interested in
what happens in the periphery
the seizure of a treetop’s leaf
struck by inexplicable wind
held inexplicably by an arm of
something less than wood

The days are quite silent
mysteriously moving forward
as the untouchable clouds
that travel to untouchable
lands of rock and smoke

I sketch this madness
with ink of wine, shades
of sleep, colors of books
the perspective of lines
drawn with mad logic,
by principles of decay

I see beauty, lost
in the ubiquitous space
   of the irrelevant
I use my hand and pretend
to dig fingers as roots
in these fleeting singularities

The destiny of Man?

                     – To be swallowed
                        entirely by
                        essence.

Poetry

pablo unbound

Pablo unbound

Horribly dreamt
I have a street
its conceptual secrets
like invisible rage
I pertain to abandonment
it hurts to disappear
wakefully vanishing
in the gaseous actuality
I roam like invisible pain
hidden behind monstrous eyes
eavesdropping, like sun of insects
interminably the hour and a smile
release… release my skin
hurdled over blank shrub
my feet slither pass the common earth
alive with some deadly truth
I run
and shattered are
the windows of lies.

Existential Poetry

of summer nights and toasts

Of rude weight
intoxicated iron
the pressing steel of %
by the shelter of glass
my petty personality
like molecules and wisps
emptying
anomalously
the flame of the wax
streets of melted passion
sad sunken vein of alcohol
morose atom
finally
roaming the expanse of society
and nothing remains
of pure
flashback.

Existential Poetry

the pus

Sacred pus
azure tear of honey
illusion final and deathly
broken ache of eternal fragment
mind hidden as noise – butter twilight
brick dishonestly masking the painful
I glimpse and all else is rain and light
sometimes pause, the dark name of time
find me aging in the salt of the vein
thirsty with the mountainous experience
of sex and surface, the glass of self vs. ideal
contact or the collapse of the soft spots of obelisks
dents of fossils because the mother cries of purpose
skeleton breasts and her milk of the loving ineffability
the drug of understanding, my knowledge of futility
your awry focus on the skin, the nostalgia of eye
love in the bite of flesh and smell of age
more is forthcoming involuntarily
by an intelligence of blindness
the sky and its language
in your mouth
the pus
of
me.

 

 

 

Existential Poetry

the pretension of analgesia

I observe myself moving
rather consistently and sensibly
riding my bike in accordance to
god-knows-what prospect
going up steps dandily
sipping tea effortlessly

simultaneously

throbbing anguish
a howl permanently
outstretched, a gash
of purulent sound
like the grumbling
of a terribly cynical
mind

therefore
I am
nonplussed by

so innocent normality
I pretend to embody

while the hostility of the unknown
goddamned world
corners me to the tiniest
spot inside the human soul
almost immobile
condemned to see life as a
glassed-in fish

while in fact

I’m the last conscious thread
dangling atop the
immense abyss
of noise, shape and paradox
unquestionably a plaything
of innumerable forces and trickery;
bearing the high formulations of daily destiny
with a stupid smile and
hardwired etiquette –
all the while
expecting the towering walls
of reality
to finally to collapse
and bury me
in their
filthy falsity

Poetry

sensorial lands

Sensorial Lands Poem Tree of Life

The unintelligibility of the hand
arbitrary and soft
the fingers of the lover
enough heat from the sun
a momentary window on my skin
an animal cry
born in every vein –
I’m trembling against the vastness
I’m already in the garden
wondering how these flowers
connect me to the beginning of life
I see your naked body
on the disquieted branch
I am splinter
striking the sky –
have you felt the insect
climbing simultaneously
our arms and forests…
the universe peacefully
on your breasts;
have we knitted our mysteries
with yellow fire
will we love in silence
observing the wild dance
of the worlds –
somewhere with closed eyes
our origin
a purpose incomprehensible
within
all formations and eruptions
your lips are asleep
an epoch
with the rain as memory
we die as children.

Poetry

this raw piece of paper

this raw piece of paper
in this nostalgia
I place existence
entirely as a dream
as the fragile body of
a newborn
reposing on the page
it is unique and vast
like plain confession of passion
this piece of paper is all
I have this very moment
a solitude of twilight
in the horizon manifest pain
I touch life
and the memory of it
escapes
like the smoke
of this flaming
piece of paper. . .

The total roar of futile flirt

The throat is the key
long gullet of hope
rebel stomach for rage
my intestines atop destruction
they are the spies
of lies
the accomplices
of alcohol

suicide is salvation
in this state
the answer
is blue sky
empty of
heaven –
the true
mask

who do we kill?
always the last note
sour and eager
futile mote
of dust

and love
finally
an instant
before
I collapse.

amidst the formless

The face was carved out
Of sound and motion
Vision was clay of river
Through ages and lives
His face was the platform
Of transforming secret –
I was a full body of beer
Reeking smell of hallucination
The concept of man
Was the rustling leaf beyond the window?
My friend and I
Seeping into the occult layers of perception
Like rats of laughter we followed the maze
Unabashed by the terrible condition
The flaky reality we were inventing
At 6am of a holiday retreat
As automaton, as passion
The nude words of the intoxicated
As free bullets
Hunting the lie
Of the self.

My madness began at seven
Beautiful ineluctable madness
The sun was over the horizon
In wide strokes of light
Painting my ribs: the trees
The fields were windows
Clear lucid germ of becoming
My skin was everywhere
Like an atmosphere of beams
My song was the sadness
The pain
The burden
The guilt
In that bath of purity
My mouth was full
Swelling with
The verb of awe

Nihilism Poetry