the old librarian

I’m the old
arrogant librarian
lost at sea
haven’t read a book
in seven years
since led astray
in the salty scales
of the sea,
carrying within
the eroded
treasures of antiquity
reciting to myself
Ovid and Schopenhauer
speaking, even
to the fish
like St. Anthony
about duality
and the necessity
of death
sometimes standing on
my plank
transient and ancient
while the spinal cord
of the horizon
contorts
like a living snake –
I’m certain
that I’ll salvage
the nectar of wisdom
it will redeem my sorrows
by sweeting the saline ocean
of my despair;
one day
when scorched
like an upright
brazen sword in
the surrounded waste
one day
I will let go
a single drop
of symphony
to drown in this
stubborn paradise
one day
surrendering the last
epiphany of my breath
I’ll teach humanity
that nothing
really matters.

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

of the circle

A moments
core wandering
many hands invented
touching me – us
moment + the inner uncertainty
touched by silhouettes
possibly a mother
whose age is light and clarity
in a moment
the thought of progress dies
a face remembers the rock
of the bone

a circle around the things
we know

beyond it
the heart of the things
we cannot love.

Nihilistic Poetry

The total roar of futile flirt

Wide_open_eye_poetry

The throat is the key
long gullet of hope
rebel stomach for rage
my intestines atop destruction
they are the spies
of lies
the accomplices
of alcohol

suicide is salvation
in this state
the answer
is blue sky
empty of
heaven –
the true
mask

who do we kill?
always the last note
sour and eager
futile mote
of dust

and love
finally
an instant
before
I collapse.

in the span of 20 minutes

Sufferer's cloud

The rain has made
senseless x’s on the pane
beyond it
the turbulent clouds
initiate the horror
and a short trance,
my madness

no symbol
is free

to speak of mundane
matters
is now unacceptable

the world
useless as thing
but the most terrible
warning

an opening in the clouds

supine
on the ground
a yellow blindness
through eyes surrendering
I sense
blood fencing the sky

inside
an egg
of impatient
globular substance

a sufferer’s music.

Nihilism Poetry

the sensation of knowing has faded

Pablo Saborio Poetry

the sensation of knowing
has faded
the congealing cement
our last coverture

ugly, reeking
and already alone
with a bullet of important birth

have the notes in the eyes
a melody of face and terror

the philosophers
have turned to the poetic
in depiction
the overt sorrow
of crocodile skins

this task of surveying
bland vast infinite
words not even mountains
to rest the moon
on their slopes

death and terror
sustained by repetitious
creation, a blind fountain
speaking for the absence

I
supplant
meaning
to extinguish
consolation

representation having failed
we rely on the cruel instant
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Nihilism Poetry

the fucking truth

the truth poemA wild band of maniacs
command me

I am hostage
given the liberty
to think
but not to feel

they feed me futures
the bones of tasks

I am hunted
with a shield of invisible ideas
I am naked to the truth

hurting by the clouded horizon
I poeticize my hypocrisy

I am of thieves
after masks I’d like to kiss

I’m heading towards madness
together with my wild pack of beasts

Nihilistic Poetry