Poetry

meditation on human origins

Human Origins

Once
words
were scarce

a star
behind a hurl
of smoke

musk
of genitals

the tremor
of blood

& the inkling
of a thought

by a hungry
fire

a salt
made for tongue

from ancient hum
in orgasm

the strip
of darkling sperm

verbose
civilization
sprung

from a bitten
nipple

 

 

 

waiting for a young hand

am cold
cobblestoned shivers
funerary lights
begin to flicker
the day is dying
the roads clear
I’m feeling as old
as this twilight
an old harlequin
that has thrown away
his ecstasy
downtown by the fountain
youth is still pure as jagged rock
but there is still passion in me
lust for hydrants and their impassive
shadows
zest for the ripples dust engraves
in the puddle at my feet
a sort of love
for the stoic repose of third-floor
windows
that air is rich in smoke
the day is agonizing
I’m sitting on a bench
as if waiting for the miracle
of a young hand offering
me a sip of wine
perhaps then I can return
to the old delirious evenings
of unrecorded
and forgotten acts.

Nihilistic Poetry

hues of time

I remember

the night

I left the cold earth

hum and smoke

leaving the table

I recall

drunk yellow mirror

clean as a koan

in the midnight laughter

after a few exhausting sighs

I remember

being of wood stone and remnant

colliding with the sounds

in flight with the seagulls –

the coitus of light

and erect darkness

water essences

splashing in metallic

eruptions of silence

and life below as weed

flourishing in the gravel,

a small pocket of existence

green, trammeled within

a nook of hallucinated earth;

the wind comes along

to stroke our hairs

I remember

the lazy morning light

stretching on the ground

sleeping next to our shadows

in a way

so real

that I dipped my hand

between the furrows of noon

releasing the song and fury

of all ephemeral hues.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

I hear the world

I hear
the world celebrate
another hour
another drop of time
another innocent tick of the clock
their voices unite in aggressive shapes
of extreme joy
another noon
another fulcrum
their austere clasped hands
held high in new directions
upon a crescent
rising towards a vanishing point
another compound
another openness
sirens wail in the open street
the cavalry proceeds in metal consonant
another descent of the moon
another compendium of light and shadow
I hear the world
positively amidst the churning voids
proceeding full of gaiety and culture
another pyramid
another stretch
I hear them
almost transcending the bronze
of the horizon
another century
another column toward infinite
their bones are statues with slanting
shadows
I hear the world
celebrate the happiness of the arc
another navel
another marble testament
a world without king
I hear the wind intersect
the hollow texture of the dream
I hear them
unified in tempo
against nothing at all.

Nihilistic Poetry

Façade (or the ontology of walls)

the walls have existed
alone before I was born
in spirit molding matter
a presence alighting on our fields
against nothingness, they have existed
floating above the secret –
the walls, the reticent walls
sustaining their own weight
sustaining pale coats of paint
alone before I was born
alone after we all die
the walls of buildings
where to keep my shadows
a sojourn a refuge
a stairway into the basement – more than that
a sorrowful edge
the walls stand sloughing the horizon
the walls stand seeping the miracle
they have existed
long before I had set my eyes
on their silent countenance
long before their bricks
congealed into purposeless
limbo

Modern Poetry

oblivious fruit

I’m certain
she is unaware
how she imitates the overture
of the clouds
in her careless hairdo

I gave her a clue
both our clothes
resemble the pallor
of the asphalt

I wonder
if she is aware
that everything has begun
to drown
even the buildings,
her breasts
leaving marks
as streaks from petals
in the transiting void

I must avoid
telling her
beauty
is a curtain
that must be drawn open
to reveal our fractured clay

I say
she is oblivious
as a fruit
painted by an artist
that will not eat
her.

about a wall

My eternity
is the wall
holy plane of cement

there
a bird
stuck in solid whiteness
upon inspection
the rusty limb
of a nail

dawn is
but a hole
a minor cave
between two framed
photographs of the sky
of Arizona

a babel rising
against this vertical horizon

books and books
leaning against
my immobile infinity

a finger
combs the
miniscule craters
as if caressing
a tooth of God

my wall
neither
warm or cold
a monk’s sigh
converted to stone

 

 

 

Absurd Poetry

copenhagen

copenhagen poet

Pick up
I an elixir
of a cigarette
Copenhagen
streets

smoke it
sun
against the
music of embroidery
in cement

rare irrational duck
and the plumes of twirling cathedral

bridge
suddenly
the waves
carrying the strokes
of wind abroad

the architecture of mother

a coarse poet
sitting by the canal
inventing a language
for the effluvium

transporting
the hidden howl

in the influence
of my finger
the couple
glided against
the halo

sit
with neck
an aperture
to organs
a glance
of concatenation
the plastic fluttered
inevitably
on the surface
of the sidewalk

a dragon from the mouth
a vowel from the deep

senseless
it falls
liberated

gliding
or dripping
the memory
I allowed
to flourish

like smoke
leaving the
soil of the earth.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry