When I wake
the day
is
a wide-open eye
I had a god
under my fingernail
but onychomycosis
got to him one day
I am a connoisseur
of nothing relevant
by night
my
vessels
are empty champagne bottles
waiting to be full
I drink red, white, pink, yellow, black, eerie
wine
still looking for a fermented god
that even a nihilist wino can love
still looking for the wretched divinity
that will close the eye
of
tomorrow.
I’m all black ink
an exile sketch
varicose vein in the night
scents and trends
lead me to your derelict niches
porcupines of light piercing the dance floor
a thousand shiny faces of techno
human tentacles
up in the air
exit
two stars
over my astray skull
if I could sculpt
this eccentricity
into
art.
you should have seen
when I put my fingers
over the flame
they smelt of Kerosene
a very obscene
scene
the piano lid shut
I could have composed
a sad sonata
for all the future drunks
that will die hung-over
without ever writing a poem
you should have seen
the coarse roar of my spleen
gave everyone a start
heavy heaving
I should have been
a line of serpentine smoke
rising from the hands
of a drunk
that will die
hung-over
never knowing
why he was
so
mean.
modern poetry
The sadness of the rain
falls
over the happiness of process
we go down to the corners
and take a piss
to avoid the police
and the exuberance of being guilty
then we go back inside
where despair is dissipated
towards the music
and
the noise
makes us forget all the pain
that made us cry in the dark
of a summer night
let’s be brave
betray
so we drink, drink, drink
and then we talk
talk and talk
the flowers on the wallpaper
made with the scent
of the spring
we never had
this is the wood
the glass
the concave walls
the drunk echo
nobody will record
for the annals
of
history.
kneel and pray
humanity
sit in lotus
on the highways
fill the fields with prostrated bodies
till perception becomes only vibration
cease action
we’ll go extinct
but in exchange
we would have the supreme reality, bliss, timelessness –
these no longer words
but palpable facts,
enough calm to abolish the despair
of another millennium
of 20th centuries;
decay in silence
till there is a pure core of beauty
the entire cosmos
as the tingling of an approaching
eternal orgasm
Have you met the man of no sorrow
he caresses the streets like there’s no tomorrow
obese with thought
he exceeds in excesses sought
too thick with analysis
one often finds him in paralysis
he was not bred to sing your tunes
give him leftovers, clouds, solitude; he calls them fortunes
the breadth of his inner wings
cannot be measured by manmade things
when he stretches his arms
his fingers trigger all the alarms
he once traveled deep south
time was a lollipop in his mouth
rewind, pause, play, forward, repeat, erase
he’s way beyond our current phase
have you met the man of no sorrow
his gaze will kill you like an arrow.
Beyond Language 
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