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 .
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.
The petal has rivers
long opulent light against the breast
solely swirls in silent colors
my skin upon the sky’s skin –
certainties are wrestling
over collapsing possibilities
the leap has a tinge of sorrow
the chain rattles
a river of petals
aging
on an empty
course to bliss.
.
have you seen
pee
splash wide
into a cascade
on the urinal wall
running freely
down the slope
of its white surface
wildly awake
before entering
the oblivious hole,
how I envision
all my decisions
thrusting forward
like a jet of pee
smashing against
the white mural of life,
how they would collapse
and stain the blank episode
of time
and inevitably surrender
like a trickle
that is swallowed
by a whirlpool of death…
No matter
what I write
this will never bear a name
all creation falls through
the empty sky
always falling
no hands here
to catch and retain
anything
no matter what
my memory is always empty
it has no truth
no one is here
to witness anything
the mind is uninhabited
and uncharted
a rock fell asleep
and this is its dream.
happy thirty
happy death
happy where are we
I have traveled
inside a cave
crushed inside skin
dried patches of skin
hands callous
the incurable stink of walking
over distance
dark distances
I have traveled
in dangerous caverns
falling, screaming
repeating
savagely
for thirty years
scavenging
closing in on those
scarce drips of essence
those impossible puddles of truth
inside a cave
where I begin to feel like shadow
dark layer upon dark layer
going nowhere
I already hear them singing:
happy happy thirty
happy birthday
joyous shadow
lost lost lost in time
There
by the brook of your stare
I meet the sound
of your drowning,
‘alas’ so light and lasting
a word surfacing like sighs from your eyes
I make room and stand back
so you run into the invisible
curl of a mistake,
my child you’ve begotten
sadness and its truth
is more distance than those streaming
glares that leap from walls to illusions –
there
I recognize our mutual meaning
nowhere in this fog
the outline of solution
nor the source of our misery.
We have landed
in the experience
to reenact
the dance and
drunkenness
of stellar events
it is all
ignorance and
pure movement
in the field
of
now.
I have closed my eyes.
In a mouthful of wine
the afternoons like throngs of mice
running hungry and wild down the gullet of
my absent body.
I taste in a nook of wine
oblivion- as a room
where existence breeds
in orgies of secret (and sweet)
mechanisms and laws.
It is all there with bubbles and stain.
My eyes are shut.
The coasts of my routine
full of drunk mist…
the departure – a breath – as a gust
of feeble constellations.
The sip.
Abrasive but fleeting.
Like the burn of a glimpse of sun.
My eyes are melting in black wine
while I drag the contours
of the untouchable world
into the invisibility of my sleep.
— Sell beer at Sacré Coeur
— Read Durant
— Visualize dramatic death
inside metro station
— Slander humanity (inside my head)
— R econcile myself with humanity on
the pretext that nothing really matters,
not even my disdain for
today’s banality.
— Buy “What’s on man’s mind-Sigmund Freud”
T-shirt
— Booze – some football
— write an avant-garde poem
— pack
— fuck
–theorize and wine
–juggle with the playthings
of soul, destiny and love
— sleep
—
Nihilistic Poetry
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