or so I thought close to the streets of vienna

 

In all movement
mine – song symbol:
reality –
when the petals of the wind
become attached
to the tips of your fingers
or hitherto
forgotten expression to heaven
skin on bud of sun
nipple aroused –
in the movement
gap
nude treeness
like eternity
undressing –
meaning must
cast a shadow
the ephemeral becoming
thick as the universe
really subjective
a passage
dot to object to volume
total names
the world lashing
to and fro
as a tail
from my pen
pressed hard
and swift
against a table in
Vienna.

 

 

the old librarian

I’m the old
arrogant librarian
lost at sea
haven’t read a book
in seven years
since led astray
in the salty scales
of the sea,
carrying within
the eroded
treasures of antiquity
reciting to myself
Ovid and Schopenhauer
speaking, even
to the fish
like St. Anthony
about duality
and the necessity
of death
sometimes standing on
my plank
transient and ancient
while the spinal cord
of the horizon
contorts
like a living snake –
I’m certain
that I’ll salvage
the nectar of wisdom
it will redeem my sorrows
by sweeting the saline ocean
of my despair;
one day
when scorched
like an upright
brazen sword in
the surrounded waste
one day
I will let go
a single drop
of symphony
to drown in this
stubborn paradise
one day
surrendering the last
epiphany of my breath
I’ll teach humanity
that nothing
really matters.

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

sutra II

sutra poema

todo      existe

el tiempo

deja hoyos en la piel

como huellas de lombriz

 

absoluto todo

el horizonte

el espejo

la joven realidad

 

las estrellas

con su rugido

de luz

 

y el silencio

que fue camino

a la verdad

 

inclusive

los pensamientos

que con nombres

dibujaron el mundo

 

todo      existe

la tierra

que tiembla

como colibrí atrapado

en tu mano

Poesía Nihilista

sutra

nada      existe

       el piano

deja caer sus martillos

como piedras en un mar sin sal

nada

ni el momento

el suspiro

la idea de existir

ni la nube

que le dio sombra

al adiós

ni la lágrima

que fue casi

infinita

ni la madre

que dio luz

a solitarios héroes

nada      existe

            el color rojo

se desnuda sin explicar

el origen de

            su sangre

Poesía Nihilista

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

from iceland

Iceland poem

Morning

wild tai-chi circles

hunch and then roar

 

two eyes open in dawn

red melancholy –

the only earth

for the heart

 

vermilion sun

to shine on the memory

sudden within a rock

four petals of essence

anywhere

 

a moth joins the horizon

curtains of light

from punctured clouds

in the expanse of sand

only one stone is fully awake

 

many have gathered

in syrups of time

 

anything could happen

while my youth is

still dying for black illusions

 

four hints of essence

 

somewhere

 

white sorrow

resting as sweetly

as snow

on the solitary fields

of my thought

 

the beautiful

wrinkled chaos

that left a scar

on the softer skin

of a black revolving rose

Modern 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