existential poetry

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mystic poetry

It was not yet summer
when the light dissolved
absolutely over my tongue

I had to return to the past
as if digging
a ruthless hole in my skin
my veins my bones my sky

will the black worm
eat consume digest
reinvent me?

death is the smoke
we breathe in
to unfold like a cluster
of manifestation

passively
the dream
reposes inside the
shell of reality

in one drop
of philosophy
the solitude
is assuaged

but the aperture
the encounter
the expanse
available only
through the pristine
ache of mystery
and its pilgrimage
found in an alighting
morsel of
beauty.

Nihilistic Poetry

the abstraction of hope

Spring Poetry Blog

clasped as a bud
within its own
infant leaves

suddenly we remember
we’ve never been
within the stripes
of time

how many grains
of sand fit
within a hollow thought

the pure shadow
of her eyes
sways like
a song I
heard inside a
crystal

a single forest
grows from the
myriad chimes
of fate

I sleep
under its concave
leaves
awaiting
for the worms
to crawl into
my dreams

suddenly you remember

we’ve been immersed
within immense
sorrow

and you let
the sweat become
dew
clutched to the
skin of
a new day.

Nihilistic Poetry

a day in april

motion poetry

The standstill motion
of the substance
around us

in a flicker
the wood is a infant body
laying on the arm
of a ray of sun

the hourglass has
a plan to move
the shadows

the incense is dead
reeking like a
flame of pus

the instant sails
through all the events
carried by the wind of memory

with a transparent dress
a ghostly rain
is expected to sweep
up the remains
the fragments

in an untitled and random quest

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

i

I’m tired
of the heights –
of all the philosophies
of stars
of all the cosmologies
of tears

my bed now
is the corner
of a passing second
I let the rain in
to drown
all the intelligent answers

I want to be
as ordinary
as a crumb of bread
on your sleeve
or as the mustache
that is shaven every day

I’m tired
of all the pompous
universes that we dream
and of the fantasy and sorcery
of constellated thoughts

my mission
now
is to dissolve as
bits of soup
in the drain
or
broken fingernails
in the dirt

the whirlpool of wisdom
comes to a halt
and I am
as cold and tame
as a shadow
lying
under a streetlamp
every minute
of every night.

 

 

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

a future odor

rose poetry

A rose with its minds
blown off
because songs are dreaming eyes
the walls are stained with words
only listless hearts can erase their meaning
the epoch always without windows
we dress in smoke and carry guns of nebulae
and if there is agony
do not blame it on the category of your faults
like memory the numbers of pain will one day be outgrown
by a senseless architecture of self
one must oblige to the pressure of the evening
and if hairs have fallen from the holy hour
in giant swirls of time we’ll be as if
we’ve never been
a rose with its desires
crushed to a
solitary perfume
of clouds.

 

Absurd Poetry

solid air

Don’t know how to drive.
Can’t even park
into huge chasms
of disquietude.
How can I comb
the hair of my
marble personality
under
the incredible wobble
of the universal flux –
my feet are spaghetti
and the air around
one gigantic block
of solid
impossibility.
I can’t breathe,
my incomplete dreams
have begun unfurling
in an inexplicable atmosphere
of suffering.

Nihilistic Poetry

of grass

I’m in transit

seeking still
the passage
between skin
and universe

the boundaries
have begun to turn
into long
horizons of
coiling water

soon, I gather,
life and death
will collide
in one
tidal splash
of beauty

and I shall
stop
moving

and lay my head
on the meaning
of grass.

Nihilistic Poetry

the breadth of a breath

death poetry

it is in that last
place
where life is surrendered
and in one flicker
we must die
absolutely

forgiving
beauty
for having existed
and now
been taken away
in one last
absurd breath

every moment
revolves around
that final moment

and if there is any meaning
it is this

the immeasurably short present
being swallowed by nothingness

all details
consumed and
blurred

it is this
single and
isolated tick
of time

where we live
and
unendingly

shiver.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry