I am so far away,
the moment
is a scorching taste of whiskey
in my half-agape mouth
my hand curling
the hair of
chance

nonchalance

alas is for me a word
signifying wings

history is in my sensations

to end this night
in the consolation of death
being as gentle as
sleep

far away from what is believed,
towards the prismatic dispersal
of becoming again
transitory

so far away
aging with the journey
of name

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog