21st century poetry

soul in it

Frenzy
shot
bullseye in the heart
of society’s prodigies:
the quitters

Wild
irrevocable
reading Cioran
blasphemously drunk
or stoned
speed techno flesh
in the early hours
of disaster

Years in despair
the world
a blank bullet
and all the
fury
ready
to shoot dead
the sad beautiful
galaxies

Who will moralize
us
you, automata politicians
pedophile religions
Wall Street noise
or 7 effective habits
for irreversible
boredom

Free
chaos as the
jury
a pack of smokes
while surveying
the world’s cancer
outgrow
our own

The wild fire
of our philosophy
supernova of exasperations
intravenous soul
into our antics
bruised forefathers
in our dreamscapes

a rebel with
metaphysical whiskey
listening to tunes
you’ll never hear
sitting at a bar
you’ll never know
waiting in a night
you’ll be as good as dead

a junkie
a messiah
an anthem

yours sincerely,
                        Poetry.

 

 

 

nihilistic poetry

booze in my theology

When I wake
the day
is
a wide-open eye

I had a god
under my fingernail
but onychomycosis
got to him one day

I am a connoisseur
of nothing relevant

by night
my
vessels
are empty champagne bottles
waiting to be full

I drink red, white, pink, yellow, black, eerie
wine
still looking for a fermented god
that even a nihilist wino can love
still looking for the wretched divinity
that will close the eye
of
tomorrow.

 

 

 

nihilist poet

a brief view on my own life

21st century poet

I wear thirteen-year-old T-shirts
but I spray them with the most expensive colognes around
I don’t buy them, only use the testers
I’m socially awkward so I might come close
to touch your hair without asking for your permission
you’d probably punch me
but I’ll say that I’m weird and sorry
I’ve never punched anybody in my life, please don’t hurt me
I’m not afraid to write a poem
when something beautiful touches me inside
I see my drunkenness as a preface to wisdom
when I drink a poem I become a mystic
when I peruse your vodka I become a breathing metaphor
I use my sadness as a dictionary
to decipher the language of modern civilization
I do not wish to bore you with my autobiography
when you are done, burn up this poem and use the flame
to warm up your soul.

 

modern poetry

the future of a vibration

Twilight Church Dome

kneel and pray
humanity
sit in lotus
on the highways
fill the fields with prostrated bodies
till perception becomes only vibration
cease action
we’ll go extinct
but in exchange
we would have the supreme reality, bliss, timelessness –
these no longer words
but palpable facts,
enough calm to abolish the despair
of another millennium
of 20th centuries;
decay in silence
till there is a pure core of beauty
the entire cosmos
as the tingling of an approaching
eternal orgasm


21st century poetry

the thought of us together

Life of the Modern Poet

Name me
the pits of existence
the minor spots
where it is safe to stop
stop and write a poem
I can’t wait till I die
so I can write about it
in the last scribble of consciousness
I will be there narrating:
               light, angels, war, sex, infinity lied
I am waiting to hear
your confession
all progress – vain
stop…
join me
in the cracks, corners, alleyways
the gutters, the nooks, the black holes
take the next exit
let’s rest near a perception
write a verse or none
we’ll sit and gaze
stargaze the stampede
the whole tumultuous downfall of the manned-world
                                  as distant as galaxies
just you and me… preserved
                as a poem.

contemporary poetry

Supine bewilderment

bedroom shadow poetry


What muscle can I use
to lift despair
despair that’s agape and out of words
hope-coated despair
that keeps us waiting for a train
that was never built;
while the body of the universe
convolutes in acrobats and yogas
I feel like a cramp
at its heel
what is my next move –
let the future be?
but this future
is a dividing wall
between us and our _____
                   (enter your raison d’être here)
I have a sledgehammer
but only atrophied muscles
to do the job.

nihilistic poetry

neon break

Neon Yellow Beer Morning

This wide open
sky
an echoed moon
on barely born hours
my couch
sitting watching
half moon, half
sky
half azure
half self –
light advances
neon
on surfaces
gilded by miracle
this pure instant
when no one
is watching.

I must be mad

Everything you do
begins with a silence

you can traverse
the distances
that keep you away
from the divine
but you look back
and the starting point
is blurred
I have been pilgrimage
traveled far,
but
in relation to what?

all is opinion
the poet is a collector
of fragments
the pieces of modernity
scattered mercilessly
over the ruins of decay

the theory emerges
the broken data
a human heart
halfway down the
spear
I threw to infinity

an attempt to coexist
with the rational
and the irrational

landscapes of words
not yet
conceived

I give you the stars
for the constellations
you’ll hang
over the lake
of your
core.

 

 

nihilistic poetry

Prosopopoeia

My creator
has abandoned me
the hands that spun these
verses
are now caressing
night axioms and
mysticisms,
the poet left
me
a poem
sunken
somewhere lost
in the motions
of the automatic world,
I am the victim
a spirit
that occupies briefly
whatever soul
treads these words
but, alas
ultimately doomed
to perish
as your
eyes
approach
my final
sigh.

nihilistic poetry