Feb. 29

feb29

The house is now in order.

The voice in my head
suggests that I add a slice of avocado.

I follow diligently the suggestion
to leave the stones out of the foundation.

You can wreck it now,
bring back chaos: it is only a pet.

The description of what is,
without category or detail.

It is only a beetle stuck to your eye.

Whatever is achieved
should not always be remembered.

There are two types of masturbation,
related to time.

The closer you study a situation,
the more strenuous it is to establish a fact.

It has never rained so much in 150 years.

I used to think
despair was the only answer to life.

There is a great wave approaching us,
nobody can predict what kind of light it will bring.

I have never before struggled so much
to ignore harmony.

I think we will sell the piano
and start a new dream.

It is the essence of life to be occupied;
water is often involved.

The avocado falls to the floor;
tears swell up.

The kids arrive and the logos begins to tremble.

It is still raining outside,
since the beginning of the day.

I wipe off the first word
and then say: hungry?

The girls like the way
we have styled the living room.

This sentence evokes a sensation of existence.

People are picking up the news
with their bare hands.

I said I love you,
but concealed a parcel of shield as I blinked.

The heart has a necessity to explode,
regardless what surrounds,
what obscures it.

 

 

 

21st century poetry

groundless

 

2018_existential_poetry

Something dwells hungry
by the moonlight,
that measure now
vulnerable as clod
of experience,
recognizable by all,
below naturally
impermanent stride.

How did one
of these commonplace
collide with gravity,
clung magnetized
like heaviest descendant,
literally,
descending to stillness,
something so neatly
tucked in by white,
almost aluminum light.

Who hurries
to lift dear thing
so organized like organ
that means to sleep
sturdy like breath
woven to stone,
dance married
to mineral.

What energy travels
rough as arrow
through fluid eye
to catch the body
of the thing,
radiating borrowed sun
from borrowed sun.

It is hungry
but to consume
some ailment,
some human angst,
that lingers primarily
as longing,
until contact is made,
suddenly,
with the surprise.

Something,
not yet named,
remains motionless
meditating below
the slanting moonlight
that cannot keep
its curtain of glow
still.

Someone
roams like dust
ringing around
the room.

The moon
is half sharp
with light,
half naked
alike the rest
of the night.

the language we taught each other.

the_language_we_taught_each_other_poem

 

Carefully we took
the language
we taught
each other.

We lifted
with those young fingers
the dense dough
of color
while we spoke
of the seasons.

We pressed that language
hard against the wall
while we ran
smearing the wind
with the transparency
of possibility.

We sat crossed-legged
answering the questions
that seemed to enter the room
like sharp rays of light
through the blinds.

We became clever surgeons
dissecting nearby words
into transcendental aspects of flesh,
kings, heroines, shamans, aliens.

We were eager to purify
the picture that played
in our minds.

We noticed the pause
between the plane
of each word & world.

We served as interface
for the dots of time
to swirl inside
our domain.

We grew right next
to language
older and heavy
with immeasurable
detail.

We saw it coming
this elegance of
ending whatever
has been spoken.

Carefully we carried language
as a glorious deceased body
into the space
our ancestors said
to be sacred.