playthings

oh in what manner
I touch
these playthings of the
soul
sculpting in torn blindness
the mode of the self
eliciting shapes
like a damp cloud
over the empire of uncertainty
am i this wisp
of creation
twisting and turning
emerging
painfully philosophically inadvertently
from the wreckage
of my
sadness?

 

 

more ther e

What kind of mothers are

these mothers

dint on ferules falling spaces

tremble firmly against the black dot

agonize done

pay dearly for attention

dearly attention for paid mothers

pay attention dear mother

self-service yellow dreaming

towards the upmost gynecology

female daemon inside

torture as crouching logic

gone done gone

blindness in color red

muscles faking florescence

sit down and read

the last vocals of  your soul

the language, mother, the tongue

inherited sounding cataclysm

        these words… these words!

freedom when church and apologies

death become

tuning chaotic speech

more ther                                                    e

I’ll take a knife

you’ll bring the blender

let’s create – erase opaque reasons

grand origins of eruptions

pale, yesterday, paling yesterday

surrounded growth

no, no, no, no

who knows .

 

 Nihilistic Poetry

From the heights above

From the heights above

region of utter (but momentary) silence

one spasm of current, one flick of expectation: 
 

 

Thundering fingers of light 
 

 

you yearn to reach high

succumb to every celestial impulse

explore paths in those veins of pain

fury and euphoric in blindness

closing in at last to fulfillment

near-annihilation by  its sheer force

forsaken in its brilliance

              as the chariot of doom

                     heralds the advent of change
 
 

 

Then, laugh, laugh in Olympic stride

and close your eyes to the Void inside

 

 

 

 

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