contemporary poem

for lack of definition

I have enough fall
to crack open
my soul
the yolk of essence
oozing through my
ribs

I keep evaporating
but the clouds
won’t integrate my
formless mass

my thoughts taste
of cinnamon and world war
and yet they failed
at school

it’s time to saw off
my hands
and let poetry
be made
with
unlicked          journey.

 

 

 

contemporary poetry

booze in my theology

When I wake
the day
is
a wide-open eye

I had a god
under my fingernail
but onychomycosis
got to him one day

I am a connoisseur
of nothing relevant

by night
my
vessels
are empty champagne bottles
waiting to be full

I drink red, white, pink, yellow, black, eerie
wine
still looking for a fermented god
that even a nihilist wino can love
still looking for the wretched divinity
that will close the eye
of
tomorrow.

 

 

 

nihilist poet

time’s the renegade

Time_Clouds_ Modern Poetry

The century skipped a beat
you, me and them
now dance in the criminal perplexity of death
I don’t want to state the obvious
but you are so obvious
my brain feels like the word: bacteria
almost an etcetera but never like a cafeteria
time hopped onto future’s back and left me back there
with the orphan past
I said, the century missed a beat
now we sleep listening to the lullaby of underwater winds
things broke
but chaos is a wonderful planetmaid
in the last days of last decade
I held my feet up high, pretending to be a bat
that could sleep and digest while clutching the sky
she loved to watch things grow – she was a true prophet
is it a sin father to make life a pillow and all events fiction
since the century ran over us without saying goodbye
can I sleep for the rest of this
illusion?

 

nihilistic poetry

Supine bewilderment

bedroom shadow poetry


What muscle can I use
to lift despair
despair that’s agape and out of words
hope-coated despair
that keeps us waiting for a train
that was never built;
while the body of the universe
convolutes in acrobats and yogas
I feel like a cramp
at its heel
what is my next move –
let the future be?
but this future
is a dividing wall
between us and our _____
                   (enter your raison d’être here)
I have a sledgehammer
but only atrophied muscles
to do the job.

nihilistic poetry

neon break

Neon Yellow Beer Morning

This wide open
sky
an echoed moon
on barely born hours
my couch
sitting watching
half moon, half
sky
half azure
half self –
light advances
neon
on surfaces
gilded by miracle
this pure instant
when no one
is watching.

the 21st century

21st century poetry

the city
is
sun-spotted
the whale’s
eye
is full of sadness
brings to mind
the friend
inside the mirror
we only go to
the rooms
dense with smoke
I don’t wish
to bring this word
to the fore
but it seems
like we are
chasing obliteration
touching the chords
that sound of
rebellion
one though
that has given up
on plans
a seated moon
on three stars
a revolver with six
bullets
but no
trigger.

contemporary poetry

flakes of self

thousand_self_poem

this life
is a flight
that with increasing
accuracy I’ve been able
to determine
is nothing but a free fall
and the sensation of flying
is produced by the lucky fortuity
that there is nothing to crash into
in this way, we drift down
spiraling through fields
of emptiness
and nobody knows
when it will end
or if it should end at all
so I’ve started to snap off
little pieces of myself
and blow them into the dark
till one day
there will be thousands of flakes
erratically swaying
in an atmosphere
devoid of destiny 
 
 
 

contemporary poetry

gutter thoughts

The
voluntary dissipation of time
eventless and motionless
decomposing
aging with the night
the loud blah of history
no goodie-goodie stuff
at the end of this line
the long fucking wait
the fucking article
‘the’
the real drunkard doesn’t have
words left to spill
slime, dust and comatose sleep
down
against any attempt
why try, answered the void
truth in a glass
and another glass
and another
another shortcut
to death.
 
 
 

nihilistic poetry

motions

Motion contemporary poetry

the walk
curled smoke
released
like a hallelujah
a modicum of light
on her eye
that stares infernally
at you
 
 

 

aging with the pulp
a journey whose
voice praying on ash
gains no wisdom
 
 
 

the want
disseminating doubts
that coil around the flesh
but no soul
 
 
 

 

 
the last moment of the day
a cello
in the air
charged
with collapse
 
 
 

 

 
ambulant timekeeping
wayfaring in delirium
still listening to
the living
clouds.
 
 
 

 

contemporary poetry

superhero stuff

I wasn’t going to give up
I stood up
probably looking like a fool
two steps back
and then a great leap
alighting on the nearest
caprice
that would fling me forward
in speeds unknown to men
far beyond the perimeter
of predictability
in amazement I was already
roaming the streets
the night crackling like firewood
in the midst of an entire
careless crowd
blind with mad desire
running through
the streets
and the smells
the drool
the sweat
I could taste everything
nothing could stop me
like a superhero of despair
that would not
give up
relentlessly swerving
through the eternal succession
of labyrinthine alleyways
I ran
ran
and ran
laughing
like a fool
because I would never
give up.

 

nihilistic poetry