surface

Sun image

Oh who would know
the meaning of having an eye
on every atom that springs
from no to yes
but it would not be god or opiated man in bed
it would be the distinct essence of a cloud
leaving the sky to rest like a heavy rock
at the bottom of the restless sea,
so extreme an image
that our souls will coil
around the shortest memory
to remember the first patch of light
that burnt the skin with warmth
to remember the first arrow of sound
to pierce the nimbus of silence
to remember the first and only object
that grew like wings to become a universe; –
how would anyone fail to notice the sun
is only the light on the surface
of the image?

 

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

moonlessness

There are days
man & you see
what flood of joy
a street black drenched
2 o clock moonlessness
the hairs as kind of antennae
on the blue poet’s flesh
kiosk shines in van gogh yellow
automatic sliding doors
press in pin code, say thanks
a bottle of wine in hand
slow steps on way back
this skin feels like walls of pure sensation
the eternal crack of rain
key in keyhole
you’re home
twirling in air of cogs & columns
dipping stale bread in the wine
oh this slow chamber of death
where shadows
rest of their enigmas
where, above all, a man
finds his peace.

AbSURd PoEtry

por fin

Escucha, estoy cansado.
Quiero dormir y seguimos tomando vino.
Me haces escribir líneas que no tienen sentido
Escribo tonterías que van a caer en el olvido.
Sigue escribiendo para poder justificar que eres infeliz,
insignificante e inferior. El arte es arbitrario.
No tiene valor absoluto.
Busca morir. Morir bajo algunas palmeras en el trópico.
Mira el sol levitar en el horizonte y ahí mismo duerme,
en el porvenir de infinita nada.
Deja toda ambición, inclusive la ambición de no tener ambición.
Descansa por fin, como una llovizna que se desliza por los aires.
Descansa por fin, como una burbuja que arrastra el mar a la superficie.
Descansa, sin entender el dolor.
Sin entender la marcha del soldado.
Sin entender la niebla del tiempo.
Descansa neutral como un gris detrás de una sombra;
descansa,

alma vacía.

 

 

 

 

Poesía Nihilista

nihil

I fear the same stone of light that you fear. I am the bone and you are the sky. We are earth hidden within the mines of space. Darkness – like a baby – hangs from our necks. If there were knowledge there’d be no action. Pure restless surrender. I fear the pause, the allotted time. It sinks, truthfully. I know we cherish the denial of our times. Like young nihilists. I dug for truth, through turd and stink. The gold of meaning, the diamond of certainty. Years have not been wasted – we see our excavations. Emptiness. Holes. Awakening. There is nothing. We’ve dug holes, nothing more; philosophical pits. The cradles of our deaths. They are beautiful, waiting, obvious. The discovery of nothing: the day everything changed. What do you seek? What value? What supreme encounter? Now, it’s too late. Death is not speculation but the premise. All postulates inevitably incomplete. I fear that same conclusion. But it is here. Like a spark, like lightning. Like love and ephemeral.

Nothing.

Nihilistic PoEtry

un charco de hedonismo

Me gusta tocar ese lugar,
curvo y blando, oculto –
que esconde el deseo.
Es magia,
que la piel roce
una fantasía y erija un obelisco.
No es morbo
sentir un relámpago extinguirse
debajo de la sangre.
Sucede y uno respira
como un árbol de hojas erizadas.
El peso de la esencia
deja glaseado el nuevo
flácido arco.
No hay que esperar siglos
para que aparezcan
monumentos al placer.

 

 

 

Poesía Nihilista

Delicate pounds

The days pounded
upon my chest
of invisible baby held like a heart,
that was dead at birth

I see the same streets
the identical rage
the mundane purpose of the bar

But patient fish
as eyes remain cool
under the stream of time

This skin stretches
around the boundary
like water

I could watch all the movies
and talk of holy female bodies,
in a café or purgatory

That ideas are literally queens
and inherited the contemporary
love of possession

The days keep pounding,
a tick of brutal rational
abstraction and the irrational
motion of the problems
of life

The perfume of a cadaver
interred in an instant
where the universe
allows a glimpse but no more.

 

 

 

AbSURd PoEtry

LAS HOJAS CAEN, UN VUELO EN REVERSO.

arbol poesia

Las hojas caen,
un vuelo en reverso.
Una sola memoria
sobrevive del día de hoy.
Se trata de un árbol
con sus hojas temblando en el viento.
De hoy, solo existe ese árbol,
enmarcado por la ventana por donde
lo miraba un hombre;
al mismo tiempo que pensaba
que no existe árbol,
ventana ni hombre.

 

 

 

Poesía Nihilista

strange

deep time poetry

How a book
of history and deep time
carves to certainty
the doom
that is inches or eons away

we subsist
clothed & saluting
as speck, blip
so this is a cosmic process

love and civilization
the means to forget
the end

I think of sex
and a daub of paint
on loose sandstone

I wonder,
the pride of grass?

as mankind climbs
like vine
weather slackens
the skeleton merely
scars the brick

my words,
how strange they hunt
the vanishing core
of things

these temperamental chords
that tremble momentarily
and regress
to sole silence

 

 

 

 

 

 

AbSURd PoEtry

alea iacta est

yeah years teeth in sun
matter

piles up

dry
out there

 

waking
which is a breath
half air
half tear

 

 

obedient bodies die
these melodies
of tragedies

nothing more
than an idea of

awareness

this geology of memory

 

experience
breaks inevitable like waves

on far distant moon

 

 

unable to alter
the course
of inane atoms

 

 

the waves keep crashing
on the thinning stone
that life
half-asleep in chance.

AbSURd PoEtry

numinosidad

He creído
los mares
son manchas en el papel
pálido de corazón y fluente
en el horizonte vacío
de verdad, una textura
de nube sin palabras
inscritas a lo que se ve ;
para sentir que morir
sucede de rutina
en estas estelas
que abrevian las memorias –
manos al ataúd
el momento enterrado
y son estas frases o fragmentos
que flotan a resplandecer
como pétalos amargos
en dulce danza de defunción.

 

 

 

Poesía Nihilista