Swathed

 

when did it begin?
accidentally
reaching intelligence’s cul de sac
walking away with empty pockets
haven thrown all theories away
like burnt shreds of money
now dripping after
falling into a puddle of sensation
nothing belonging to me above or below
I foresee the outcome already –
a maddening silence
staring out the window
because the birds
are pretty.

 

 

Modern Poetry

sin

Una nueva generación
de hormigueos y perezas
en mis labios

¿qué decir que no se haya dicho?

todo está tan quieto
la mesa con sus libros
la lámpara y la sombra debajo de la silla
reposando
dormitando
debajo de sus superficies mudas

empiezo a callar como estos objetos
atisbo que detrás de la apariencia
nada se esfuerza

imito el reloj
entre las pautas
de los segundos

no
sí
no
sí

estipula la mente
agitada

pero yo
ya estoy cruzando
el borde del secreto

el tiempo
se acuesta
como un llavero
sobre la mesa de noche

en ese voluminoso espacio

sin la proeza de existir

sin esfuerzo ni represión

sin propósito ni explicación…

lloro.

 

 

 

 

Poesía existencial

the only thing worth knowing

I changed sides
of the road
walking
perhaps
to some ultimate
destination
I was wrong
it was only
another sidewalk
I had been
doing nothing
staring at letters
in books
without
knowing their meaning
the coffee got cold
I go for walks
when I get tired
of sitting.

I’d like to say
this is all true
but I only have
noise and vague memory
I have no idea
what I did
today.

NIHILISTIC Poetry

the world of men

World of men

I cannot wait
to be in your teeth
ripped apart
in black disguise
by your plotted fangs
and crushing grand schemes
I can’t wait
to be flotsam
that nobody finds
in your sea of control
rotten planks
sinking into an insignificant
quiet disappearance
I cannot wait
a minute longer
to be fake rice
in your fields of expansion
never becoming
more than a spot
of white nothingness
amidst your supreme
everything .

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

of unknown reverberations

unknown_reverberations_21st_century_poetry

gray ground
nestling
the little curvaceous
seeking self

a methodical
appraisal of the
unintelligible

empty fields
arising
an axiomatic love
of chaos
and labyrinth

light never
ages
but its image
traverses time

the tree was spotted
as the period
at the end
of a graceful sentence
that spoke of
a timeless seed

the eyes that were
given to me
eloped with darkness

an affair
of unknown
qualities
and reverberations.

 

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog