How would any sensitive soul react to this Fate?

I could
have      loved
the fire
and hummingbird
little winters
stacked and trembling

my hand
wild and rodent
treading the

but looks like
young time
nothing is nothing

my prayer being
when death comes:

may this consciousness
be that of a stone
stripped of its rock


the world has ended

illusion of water

I hold
the final ache
that fragment of ash
shrouded in perception

the wind passes
through the world
wrinkling it
as a docile flag

when did I cease
to believe that
I exist

now all this movement
wanders ownerless
without a pivot

these loneliest eyes
still gathering
the last details
of the vanishing earth

it is so sad
to lie
and pretend this
will last

the canal’s waters
are fleeing from
the light of the sun

I hold
a flake of pain
tight within
my clenched fingers

it is not my hand
but a boat
carrying illusion
till the horizon
as its wake

Nihilistic Poetry

from iceland

Iceland poem


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



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




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


A young beast
leaves a footprint
on empty earth

the ears interpret
knives as foliage

in her crotch
a whole balcony of moss

against the black
odor of the stars

a firefly
cannot live a century

the blood sleeps
like hardened wax

something is missing
a shadow
pregnant with noon

a grey whiteness
wounds the heart

and death approaches
in a nude echo.

Nihilistic Poetry

of grass

Grass Poetry

I’m in transit

seeking still
the passage
between skin
and universe

the boundaries
have begun to turn
into long
horizons of
coiling water

soon, I gather,
life and death
will collide
in one
tidal splash
of beauty

and I shall

and lay my head
on the meaning
of grass.

Nihilistic Poetry

another day being something else

subjective poet 2012Half
the sky
in my laugh
into myriad
of clustering

the white
like palpitations
of the cloud
coming from
a vaguely symphonic

where they touch
and perish
my drops
of comic

I am a cosmic
behind the windows
the cold
touch of something




nihilistic poetry