from the bottom up

Poem on clouds

my mistake was
to make a philosophy
out of the gurgling sound
when hope
sank to the bottom
of the pond

I invested too much in clouds
they can hardly break
the rapid fall of my words
as they crash into
solid stupidity

I have to return
to the meaning
of stone

I have to tip over
my dreams
as boulders on summits

that wreck
could hurt like
a sudden



nihilistic poetry


small poetry

by then
i had crossed
the reason

language was tender
naive and insipid

i was beginning to write
with motion
a salving madness

i began asking
for the drop
to steal

a spark in the horizon
a mission
a long-drawn laughter
after the joke of life
had been exposed

it was with all the things
we came to know
that i crossed
the sadness

at last

by the emptiness
of the road.






Sending Circle

If I move
then this should
not exist

I am writing
because because
never existed

I am angry
I am ecstatic
I am so many words;
yet what remains is
opposite to all

I am a feather
that draws in water
but leaves no
ripple behind
its art

I am existing
to experience
the rush of disappearing

to crash into existence
the roaring vehicle
of silence