the inner life of the newer man

Key to Wisdom

It keeps me warm
threads and threads
a wonderful composition
to keep me warm;
I bought it and now it keeps me warm
it has fortified my skin,
I am a modern bear.

I walk with my coat
the streets are windy
but the coat hangs on
it falls naturally on my shoulders,
I am its underlying foundation,
therefore I must exist under it.

I am hungry
contractions and blurring agonies,
I am okay
but I must touch food soon,
then swallow it
and then it becomes me
I become it:
we must both exist at some point.

The bicycle has wheels
they roll on a surface,
a hard one,
I am fast; to be fast
there is weight, force
I am a force in motion.

I see the bakery
full of smells and heat
many folk are in there
bread is being sold,
I have some money:
I must be at the right place.

I park my bicycle,
rationally, I am locking it
removing the key from the lock
the bike sways and wants to fall,
I catch it because it should not fall;
they are not supposed to fall –
a car glides behind me –
why would we let bikes fall to the ground,
what would happen, who would I become
if I had permitted this bike to fall;
what kind of man would I have become.

Mouth is watery
mushy croissant in my savory mouth
this pulp goes down my throat,
it falls,
this is allowed fall.

I leave the bike –
cannot deal with questions right now –
walking is natural, effortless
step, step, step, step, step, step
kind of percussion,
I must be an artist.

I went astray,
is this the north of the south
or the west of the east,
this place is relative to something
I know that much.

They are talking about shoes
shoes are valuable
they are like hard feet for hard surfaces,
these girls use their hands when they speak:
hands must also be part of language.

I must return, somehow
because if I remain lost too long
I might not be me anymore;
with so many new sights
I might disappear in these perceptions.

TO DOWNTOWN,
there it is, an arrow
pointing to my universe;
back there I can be caressed again
by the same old things I know:
we exist side by side.

Step, step, step, step
this is my home, my street, my block
my mailbox has a name
the floors have numbers
the door has a lock and I possess its key
and I pretty certain that I keep track
of who I really am.

Self-knowledge

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

Virgin World

The world is brand new!

     everything in it exists

they all exist

everything was born now

  the green little moss between two round rocks

      the small hairy fibers of dust

the orange flame from this candle

the smooth nail on this finger

everything is new

     visiting for a first time

they all exist
violently

        enthusiastically

I have just been born

      how close is everything

               everything has a glimmer

I reach out…

 

 

          a virgin world.

 

 

Modern Poetry