contemporary poems

to sit

But to sit
inside to mourn
the faint flame of the tongue
a domain bursting with curl
don’t move these eyes
they soon thunder
behind two happy lips

asleep

to sit uprooted
of her hairs not beatific
by the window
to mourn, winter, the weight
sentenced to be borne
by a few final thoughts
they encircle waves around

minutes

to sit certain
of a scene, dream, or green unhappiness
I could roar like a hallucination
inside the tiny mount of my sleep
but to mourn
in the morning
without a second chance to

kiss

to sit
and the heart
shivers like a wet bird
to mourn
unblinkingly
like twigs of rain
towards soon of old

tomorrow

Nihilistic Poetry

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

a stroll

brevity of life

I observe man
as an attempt
as pantomime
as desperate confabulation
to be what it knows
it cannot be

a perfectly trimmed
beard
a perfectly shaved
pussy

a chameleon’s last
color to camouflage
its lust
and most importantly,
its fear

I conceive mankind
as if it were the most
embellished monument

and while I walk
under its cool shadow
I reflect:

its brevity compels
me to hate it

its meaninglessness compels
me to love it.

 

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

Soon the path is fog

While these hands

have broken bread,

caressed drooling

lips of pleasure,

while grey wax streams

down these cheeks

for soon the path is fog,

a dotted line of street lamps,

lumps of light

doses of darkness,

nothing but cold in the event

silence in the hour;

a particle swinging between cars

and the busy lives of chimeras

this shadow amongst transparencies

this elevation without certainties

I navigate like lost wind

through edifices and glow

seeking a new contradiction

a newer totality

or the last

dust of god.

CONTEMPORARY POETRY BLOG

cave of shadows

cave of shadows

Having crossed the street
leaving behind vapor or vastness
the bulb shines on the pavement
a flat spangled instant

this road to a friend
my friend
whose skin of earth
tightens a delta by the edge of an eye
I see the determination of a tear
gliding by the cheek ,
so early a thought
before it becomes fire,
before the verb
flees as storm.

I remember everything in silence,
like flashes of a dance
inside the cave of shadows.

My friend whose skin of earth
coalesced into the Nile’s delta

we saw the tear fall to earth
like one imperfect meaning

falling into silence.

CONTEMPORARY POETRY BLOG

glyptotek

epicurus_Beard_poem

the feet preserve their nails
but the noses have returned
to the grind,
below the throat of dome
pencils crushed to mosaic on the floor
pensive but not counting the days left-
this endless translation
of feeling to words to image to truth to play;
I’ve got a favorite seat in a museum
greek perfumes still cling to epicurus’ beard
the marble is still cool
like the pillow of the centuries,
melpomene turns with funky mullet –
somewhere I hear a trickle
as both stone and man
wait for the last crumb
and bone to rest
far beyond the tongue
of the sun.

 

 

 

Absurd Poetry

a mystic’s bed

then I found myself
stepping on the mushy
nodes of matter
first cobblestones
then grass
finally the helical
steps of a cloud

it was no longer
vague intuition
but pure palpable
fact :

this is a dream

the arc of night
laid its arm
round my shoulder

both my eyes
puckered
to buss the black sky

there was love
dark and murmuring

my heart drunk
on the delirious flavor
of the stars

the straws of space
nested my body
and fell asleep
while the cars below
flashed in gushing fleets

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

dumb poet

It is no hard task
to sit with a book
& glass of wine
all night
waiting perchance
the end of all events;
patiently becoming
dumber by the words
and wiser by the wine;
serene and slumberous
in the certainty
that all things will perish
today, next morning
or in a thousand years.

Poetry Blog

g’night

I will sleep tonight
cargoless
adding only to my lightness
the thickening trickle of a trance

to behold the failing world
cradled by darkness

such is my noiseless faith

to whom belongs today
when it is already recollection

the eyes drown in intimate vastness
the ears dip into soft limbo

the earth and its history
recede and disappear
as does the voice
that defined them.

 

 

 

21st Century Poetry