on decadence

Decadence Poetry

is not simply
squandering away
the last remnant of this life
– for all that’s left are remnants –
the art of demise
is hardly only destructive,
it is a destruction following creation
a long struggle
to create something pure
in us,
yet once the new
has been achieved
desperation sets in,
necessarily we strike
a deathblow –

making all the
necessary room
for newer


nihilism poems

town drunk

Artist beer drinking

It feels good
not being an artist
no language to impress
philosophical thoughts on cheese
a bit guilty of the next beer
depleting bank account

it feels good
to walk on snow
so crisp and pure
drinking the next beer
getting drunk
and all the rest

it feels good
to see the snow
my cold breath
dunking beers
and all the rest

if feels good
to have left Berlin
now just a town drunk
not even a





in your hands

Decadent poetry

the machines  +
    he echoes 

and to live
with this slow beard
amidst hallucinations of normality

the decadence of my
      Nietzschean years
no role model:
      Kurt is long gone
dead by angst
           we still live on 

the poet of opium
    in a brothel
licking her sweetness
beauty the contradiction
   of his verse 

the poet needs his decadence
     refutal of his commitment
the lie
        the mistake
               the disaster
mistrust of the divine
          impotence of sublimity

my life is decay
       in your hands.



Nihilistic Poetry