contemplative light

heavy_light

 

Sits against a white wall.
Looks at the window, stares in fact.
Silence is corporeal. Like a slow vapor
gliding through the room. Like a heavy
light falling to the floor and hardening
into a luminous crust. I watch him
think a thought as if it were the
last thought to ever enter his mind.
This is not real, he thinks.
This is not real, he thinks again.
A flutter of figments,
a crossroads for pigments.
This is not real.
Who could have foreseen him
washing his hands in those streams
of thick light. Who could have
foreseen him tying silence to
the weight of a spiral.
This is not real,
he repeats for a fourth time.
Sitting against a white wall.
Like an old portrait, immobile
while staring at the window.
He has become conscious
of the weightlessness of time.

 

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

nooks within a routine

Mad poet

What collocation of beginnings
side by side in the sky
looking through window
at a fiery gas and ox flame
woven in lurid clouds,
the unit of beginning
3 seconds of origin
awoken in the mist –
then return to the tunnel
of thought, drug and routine
as a dark spiral without
exit.

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog