there are attempts
at writing.
nothing more.
the combinations
are infinite.
yet I never find
any published thought
that will survive
the caprices of history
evolution and death.
I find two words
in one effort to capture
it all,
two words echoing
long after the writer
has left the earth.
two words that are as unlikely
as they are ridiculous
to have been written.
I exist…
and so it was,
poetry: a deliberate madness
serene, thoughtful, full of strange distances
hanging names on the limbs of details
giving sound a place to rest
all things visited from sidelong silences
things: worshipped and often obscuring
the sudden flight of city birds
exactly because my sight was bolted
to that eerie spasm of the sky
the spaces neglected for the general purpose
of a somnolent rain
I speak: world
in order to feel: existence
the challenge of light and above all ideas
pulverized movement near disfigured events
dates as calmly as pulsations
inventing, attempting, redefining
something that enters the invaded dream
the inundated reality that spears me.
I am heaping like an
intersection
of instances
dispersing as the floral
loop of sleep
tangibly draped with invisibility
the static beeping of my departure
witnessing the burst of egos
so uncontrollably distant from each other
in the topography of my identity
I am lost between the trees and the forest
I can’t see the wood
for the raw wildfire of my
existence
all I am saying is that I have no control
in moments like these
being a Buddhist
would have been a good idea.
Modern Poetry Blog
By time
I was aware
the puke was everywhere spreading
like the universe
I could see traces
of yellow
and acid
pain spiraled in
this was suffering
but I
emptied
free of content
overtook space
as a substitute
to
existence.
Nihilistic Poetry Blog
I am an egoist
the tides of the galaxies
are for my amusement alone
the backdrop of the world
is the stage for the drama
of my sadness
I have eternity as my own
reality-show
the concatenation of events
stroll before me as a parade
offered to a king…
but as a king
I still yearn for more
I look for the edge of existence
looking, as it were,
for something else
something not yet invented
lurking behind the world of things,
perhaps a mist
belonging to another reality
untouched by this world;
a thin fog
I surmise,
of impossible bliss.
I try
to surpass existence
I fail
I simply: exist
I feel myself in the world
I am in it
yet I spend most of my time
dreaming
that I am not
I don’t deny that there
is something
my only yearning
is that I cease being
part of it
Failure
was the ace up my sleeve
my get out of jail free card
my existential loophole
having failed
I was out of the race
competing only with the skies
my midget adversary – ambition
too afraid to follow me into the wilderness of the wild
I am free
to make any nook on this earth a cumulous heaven
make a straw bed for my sleep-drunken poems
on any day of my open-ended agenda
to make a living on the question:
is this all real?
My only desire
is to see
a stream of existence
fall through azure
at contact point
the intact reserves
of the world
sprouting
like the bubbles
at the end
of your pee.
learn meanings
asphyxia
coated roughness
in tender existence
panic so beautiful
you call it
god
learn the noise
behind the word
lurking behind
a search
so silent
you call it
drums
learn abyss
a fall
inevitably soft
dismemberment
asunder
you call it
peace
learn meaning
holding the concept
explosions
ready to kill
the unity of thought
you should call it
jackpot!
That I must use language
to describe an unusual event
which was anything but words
makes my task already
futile
but I will communicate
the strange braid of emotion, perception and thought
that made that moment possible
as I was standing
at the end of a sidewalk
a piece of, what it seemed like,
a poster
was stuck to the ground
and an outreaching extremity
hanged over the miniature precipice
between the sidewalk and the gutter
this limb of paper
this appendix of matter
fluttered in the wind
and I felt as if standing above
a slice of eternal existence
flapping under my very feet
a small, oblique, strand of whatever
moving in sequences
that would make
me believe
in
beauty.
Beyond Language 
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