today

nothingness

Today, I’m convinced
that the hard edge
of matter
is nothing but a
soft pillow
of cloud,

that I’ve never seen the earth

because I’ve made nothing
but sculptures of smoke
with the shadows of
the mind.

Today, I might shrink
to a piece of petal
and wait for a flood of light
to drag my sight toward perfume
and thaw my flesh
to dew.

I’ve never visited the world,
standing drunk here between
two columns of dream.

Today, I could have erased
memory with its tail of tale,
today I see there’s nothing
in space

not even the pulse
of silence’s throbbing slumber.

 

Contemporary Poetry

the existence

the existence

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
Lilililililililiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiili

if nothing had been
taught
green dirt pillow sun hidden source
I die

my love
my element

.
the taste of
reason

return as the red
towards the tasteless earth

how long can
the long understanding
last?

I die in 7 minutes
or 7 decades
for how long must I
invent the existence?

I must cry
because of all
these layers
of years

all these skins
that died
to become
thoughts.

Nihilistic Poetry

before wisdom

Before Wisdom

An animal without thinking of hands opens a cave of innocence. It sleeps without the weight of tomorrow, like a burning match. The other animals are heavy with knowledge, spinning like kaleidoscopes of fat. My ideal self is a plant, surrounded on every side by invisible expanses of solitude. Sometimes it could think, but always to negate. It will say: these petals have not changed the world. And it will sway and tremble in a monotonous wind. If the world is a vessel sinking irrevocably into forgetfulness, there is no real distinction of types. These beings we see, or imagine and sometimes become have no name. Like thistles with nameless thorns. Like music with blind hours. Like blood without the river of taste. I see the fur and claws submerging; the animal does not struggle. It drowns like a bean in water. But I still don’t know if in a glass, an ocean or in eternity.

Nihilistic PoEtry

strawberry joyous

abstract buddhahood

Haunting
hustling hurrying harrowing hurling – hush.
John, if I knew one, would be right.
Take the marmalade
and spread
it over the bread.
Taste it as

the eyes taste light.
Yes. Simple emptiness,
delicious shine. Buddha sits

in the TV room. The rain clouds.
It is good jam.

 

 

 

 

CONTEMPORARY POETRY BLOG

Oedipus Coloneus

This is earth

here is earth
all earth dreaming
this sliver of earth
this earth of maze
a rueful path on earth
all earth divine
hard as cock
as breasts voluptuous
this earth of sex
and dream and pain
here is earth
all earth excelling
in voice and void
this earth like
body drunk
with melody

 

 

CONTEMPORARY POETRY BLOG

nihil

nihil poetry

I fear the same stone of light that you fear. I am the bone and you are the sky. We are earth hidden within the mines of space. Darkness – like a baby – hangs from our necks. If there were knowledge there’d be no action. Pure restless surrender. I fear the pause, the allotted time. It sinks, truthfully. I know we cherish the denial of our times. Like young nihilists. I dug for truth, through turd and stink. The gold of meaning, the diamond of certainty. Years have not been wasted – we see our excavations. Emptiness. Holes. Awakening. There is nothing. We’ve dug holes, nothing more; philosophical pits. The cradles of our deaths. They are beautiful, waiting, obvious. The discovery of nothing: the day everything changed. What do you seek? What value? What supreme encounter? Now, it’s too late. Death is not speculation but the premise. All postulates inevitably incomplete. I fear that same conclusion. But it is here. Like a spark, like lightning. Like love and ephemeral.

Nothing.

Nihilistic PoEtry