we need to talk

anti poetry

I don’t love you, poetry.
I’m filing for divorce,
don’t know what happened
we met on the streets
I could not resist her
and now I cannot come back
to you.
Her name? does it even matter?
Oh she’s commonplace, boring
in fact. But she’s straightforward,
ubiquitous, and superficial.
It’s plain reality, chewing gum,
being hungover, to laugh.
It’s paying for bus ticket,
putting on socks, turning
in bed. It’s blinking, jerking
off, bruising a finger, the
smell of burnt toast.
I’m sorry, poetry.
I loved you once,
but today I have
bad breath, indigestion
and a disheveled beard.
I just need to read about
bombs, dollar vs euro,
I need to google:
3-day weather forecast.
It’s going to be alright,
life goes on, we’ll look
back on all our bliss
with a dry smile.
Let’s not make it any harder,
I gotta go out and
buy some cheap wine,
be alone, yeah
be alone.

 

 

 

staring

nihilist poet

you see
idont give a damn
you look at me
holy emblem of waste
granite fuck beyond idea or purpose
proletariat or anarchist
I’ll sit legs crossed
hair spiked up like
million million hands up
in the air for manna
only it never comes
you see
we are merely relics of the infinite
retrospectively the truth
is so simple
in this interlude of rustling
there are only moments
faint improbable moments
visiting the tender pouch of consciousness
and to sit is just to wait
for fire and nothingness to fuse
into a scar of memory
I sit rather than lie supine
because I know the sky’s lips
are there nibbling the souls
I prefer to sit today
to catch your stare
like hard bright
moonshine in m y
face.

Nihilistic Poetry

giving up time

Giving up time

Now that it’s
clear
that I write
the worst
poems of modern
times
I have excess of words
to give out as cigarettes
to the homeless freaks
of tomorrow’s
cave

I have these empty
whiskey glasses
for the saddened utopia
of ultimate
reality

giving up time
as a shoe
that blistered my feet
but a bum of philosophy
took up
as a joyride
to
perfection.

 

Modern Poetry