There like a bolt
like a stone amidst
a dust beyond
deep in shine
a pocket w/noon
and no shadow
a golden fury
himself mad
speaking loudly
and evening
with lawlessness
into rivulets a feather
nobody wings
possibility’s a stream
hours whirl
he types ‘whiteness
merge with tear
and this earth
trickled like spark
upon memory’
he listens
the wind has a mouth
and the same questions
about time.

Contemporary Poetry

thin vicissitude


I bumped into the city, the bastard.
Looking around the snow – remembering
my tongue melting as ice in Lascaux and fossilized
toothpicks near the ancient campfire.
I was in Iceland and got drunk,
looking at the cloudless that would die
before the sky reached Sweden.
I have been on the toilet all day,
working, theorizing, and it came
out looking like Nobel’s head,
one day
I will sit beneath a giant tree and forget
my existence as grass never did.
I see why the intellectuals
are enchanted by doom.
But why worship definition as
a totem almighty menacing godly cult.
I see why the poets cancel death
and write lyrics for the music
of meaningless wind.
I observe the visionaries
about to detonate with their unclean secret
like a grenade in their chests . But they can’t,
never finding sunshine in communication,
sadness has overwhelmed language
leaving behind a thin vicissitude
of smoke.


Contemporary Poetry

total truth

The greatest liberation
came when I dropped
the pretension to happiness.
It was freedom from category,
from hope, from knowledge,
from purpose.
I immediately recognized
that reality has no meaning,
no destination, no description.
All happiness seemed trivial in its
relation to one condition or circumstance.
I preferred truth.
I did not find it in the philosophies, religions
and sciences.
The dawn of despair set in,
total and unequivocal,
but despite the existential ache that ensued,
it brought with its gloomy light the necessary
vision to initiate in truth:
the denial of all former values.
If existence was factually beyond
the reach of words,
it could not be grasped in recorded knowledge;
it could not be explained by the logical sequence
of premises and postulates;
if it had a truth, it needed to be
immediate and self-evident.
Truth cannot be imposed onto reality,
it would distort it otherwise.
Reality is the only truth –
and to discover what it is
I had to drop all attempts to define it…

merely become aware of it
and allow its transmutations
to speak its truth.


Nihilistic Poetry Blog

el proceso

German Bunkers Denmark

Estoy naciendo –
del nebuloso bunker
de cruel manía de risa
mis ojos son todavía ostras de pétalos suaves
semiabiertos con chispa rosa de olor
estoy siendo creado –
por hombros de cielos a primera luz
por las cuatro palabras del viento
por la mirada caída del mar temblante
estoy emergiendo –
con vestuario fecundo del desierto sobre mis pieles
el semblante de roca busca atenazar su agua
construyendo el esqueleto desde las raíces de un silencio
estoy en transición –
de cascara de vidrio a unas alas de trueno
de átomo partido a civilización de abrazos

hoy dejo de ser mancha negra en el ocaso
para turnar azul como la mística sal del cielo.

A quick translation:

I am being born –
from nebulous bunkers
and cruel frenzy of laughter
my eyes are still oysters of soft petals
half-open with rosy flint of scent
I am being created –
by shoulders of skies at first dawn
by the four words of the wind
by the fallen gaze of trembling sea
I am emerging –
with the fecund clothes of the desert over my skins
the face of rock seeking to pinch its water
constructing the skeleton from the roots of silence
I am in transition –
from husk of glass to wings of thunder
from split atom to a civilization of embraces

today I cease being black stain in the twilight
so as to turn blue like the mystical salt of the sky.

Poesia 2011

Where I Live and What I Live For

Where I live Poetry

I kept
the elements tightly
coated by the universe
of my skin,
in there I live too
throwing in the fire
the logs of life,
waiting for the blaze
to engulf all nature
and allow me a glimpse
of some bliss
at the other end




nihilistic poetry