against the city

against the city

when some disease erodes
the asphalt
a newer skin
to sow
our crooked shadows

when some orbit of dirt
surrounds
the hunting heart
where some twig
losses a single
leaf

when a step no longer
interred
in a busy old grid
but to settle upon
the new element
of pause

when everything
imitates memory
and wreck
pick up a stone
and imitate its
barbaric sleep.

This was, of course, a fictitious escapade. To flee from the constraints of the invisible system by leaping onto a wing of image. But the hard aphasic stone of man’s city is impervious to our poetry. We must drag our heavy bodies over predetermined paths. Poetry is drunkenness. And tomorrow we must awake scarred, shaken and as fixed as the streets we nauseatingly tread.

Nihilistic Poetry

copenhagen

copenhagen poet

Pick up
I an elixir
of a cigarette
Copenhagen
streets

smoke it
sun
against the
music of embroidery
in cement

rare irrational duck
and the plumes of twirling cathedral

bridge
suddenly
the waves
carrying the strokes
of wind abroad

the architecture of mother

a coarse poet
sitting by the canal
inventing a language
for the effluvium

transporting
the hidden howl

in the influence
of my finger
the couple
glided against
the halo

sit
with neck
an aperture
to organs
a glance
of concatenation
the plastic fluttered
inevitably
on the surface
of the sidewalk

a dragon from the mouth
a vowel from the deep

senseless
it falls
liberated

gliding
or dripping
the memory
I allowed
to flourish

like smoke
leaving the
soil of the earth.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

never mind

Never Mind Mask

there are rare days
that begin
with orchestras crying my eyes
colors dripping memories
city strolls in mammoth steps
I carry pocket-sized chaos
on my shoulder, pretending to be a pirate
on the sea of modernity,
off we sail
into the wind
as plastic wrap
buoyant on meaninglessness

there are rare days
that begin
with suspension points
calmly insinuating that
life is passing by

there are rare days
that begin
with tiny airplanes tied to the tips
of my fingers
seems like I’m about to take off
but then I remember
the anchors tied to my toes
that sink me
into
never mind.

 

Modern Poetry Blog