absurd poetry

a posteriori

I left
in the middle
of a cloudless night
as a thief
to snatch one orphan
ray of moonshine
I was drunk
between cathedrals and labyrinths
looking for the crackling
sound of a tiny star
I wandered along this
heaven of dirt
peeking under every shadow
for a trace the hidden
mass of an eclipse
over bridges and blackouts
I followed the scent
of a spiraling infinity
never reaching its end

I awoke
with a black
layer of eternity
as a rag
over my sore
and swollen skin.

Nihilistic Poetry

empty shadow

empty form poem

 

I saw a yellow house
a pillow
and a mother
that would not explain

the wind carried
the stars
like debris
my tongue’s tip
did not catch any

how the sadness
clings onto
the rustle of a leaf

I could describe
with lines and perspectives
the memory that
brought me here

beyond that memory
empty flashes of shadows
and hungry panthers of light

I saw

my hand
touch the world
like a
mirror
reflecting
a dance.

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

for the drunks

Absurd poetry

There are
moments
when the earth
shakes likes ripples of myth

and the epic
begins
when a fallen
brown leaf
slowly returns
to its green nascent
breath

we leave in every nook
a morning of sighs
and the little signs
of a bygone nostalgia

because all attempts
fall into the crevice
of yesterday

and the dripping minute
serves as an eternity
for the drunks
with whom I share
my nights in delirium
within the occult temple
of a bar.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

i

I’m tired
of the heights –
of all the philosophies
of stars
of all the cosmologies
of tears

my bed now
is the corner
of a passing second
I let the rain in
to drown
all the intelligent answers

I want to be
as ordinary
as a crumb of bread
on your sleeve
or as the mustache
that is shaven every day

I’m tired
of all the pompous
universes that we dream
and of the fantasy and sorcery
of constellated thoughts

my mission
now
is to dissolve as
bits of soup
in the drain
or
broken fingernails
in the dirt

the whirlpool of wisdom
comes to a halt
and I am
as cold and tame
as a shadow
lying
under a streetlamp
every minute
of every night.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

a future odor

rose poetry

A rose with its minds
blown off
because songs are dreaming eyes
the walls are stained with words
only listless hearts can erase their meaning
the epoch always without windows
we dress in smoke and carry guns of nebulae
and if there is agony
do not blame it on the category of your faults
like memory the numbers of pain will one day be outgrown
by a senseless architecture of self
one must oblige to the pressure of the evening
and if hairs have fallen from the holy hour
in giant swirls of time we’ll be as if
we’ve never been
a rose with its desires
crushed to a
solitary perfume
of clouds.

 

Absurd Poetry

solid air

Don’t know how to drive.
Can’t even park
into huge chasms
of disquietude.
How can I comb
the hair of my
marble personality
under
the incredible wobble
of the universal flux –
my feet are spaghetti
and the air around
one gigantic block
of solid
impossibility.
I can’t breathe,
my incomplete dreams
have begun unfurling
in an inexplicable atmosphere
of suffering.

Nihilistic Poetry

a meaningless epic

Not in the sensation
nor in any substance
I found the budding smoke
against the bitter pulp of your tongue
– an escapade –
stranger
in three seconds
you seemed like a new hero
unlikely to be born
but already running from death
with long undulating hair and cigarette smoke
as the aura of your magical feats of scorn ; –
I followed your pace briefly
soon losing sight of your epic trivialities.
I am intent of becoming hiccups
your dirty nails or the drunken laugh
with which all serious things
are consumed .
Where does your unguided purpose
take you now?
Who cares. Matters little.
I was simply eager
to be abducted
by some viscous phantom
a passing nondescript
taking me suddenly out
of my routine,
to exist carelessly
in the passive ruin and
ordinary acts
of someone else.

 

 

 

the breadth of a breath

death poetry

it is in that last
place
where life is surrendered
and in one flicker
we must die
absolutely

forgiving
beauty
for having existed
and now
been taken away
in one last
absurd breath

every moment
revolves around
that final moment

and if there is any meaning
it is this

the immeasurably short present
being swallowed by nothingness

all details
consumed and
blurred

it is this
single and
isolated tick
of time

where we live
and
unendingly

shiver.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry