The horizon alights like a dormant lip.

swollen_cloud_poem_21st_century_copenhagen

The horizon alights like a dormant lip.
The most important thing of the day
was not seen but felt.
Joy was not in me but around me.
Like a pool of emotion, I drift from
one spill to another. Joy. Boredom. Dread.
I’ve been wandering the whole day. Looking
at things as if they were rocks covered in moss.
The clouds were protagonists .
They are immobile, the city below balloons in ripples.
The line between the lips swallows the light,
the waves and the purpose.
A delicate gulp. Swollen with twilight.
One single nerve aches.
The one whose function
is to sense life.

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

happy 30

 

 

 

happy thirty
happy death
happy where are we

I have traveled
inside a cave
crushed inside skin
dried patches of skin
hands callous
the incurable stink of walking
over distance
dark distances

I have traveled
in dangerous caverns
falling, screaming
repeating

savagely
for thirty years
scavenging
closing in on those
scarce drips of essence
those impossible puddles of truth

inside a cave

where I begin to feel like shadow
dark layer upon dark layer
going nowhere

I already hear them singing:

happy happy thirty
happy birthday
joyous shadow
lost lost lost in time

 

 

 

 

nihilistic poetry

day #9 (from el camino)

Still mountain

I begin to salivate
with the thought of dedicating
an entire life to poetry,
a voracious appetite to eat
the great voids of nature and spirit;
that while indigent
I can still satiate mi hunger
with the stillness of the mountains
and the spring of the sky
that runs sweet
night and day.

 

 

poetry blog

you as landscape

You, flesh and bone,
gas and scars
of phenomena.

My hand slides down your ranges
into the pockets of pleasure,
the possibility of birth and gargantuan
orgasm.

The winding road of decisions
and the soporiferous wind blowing
of distant causes.

The trees have danced,
reenacting the groove of colliding
cosmic bulges in the rhythm
of passing gusts.

We do the same?
In silent gaze, creating
the torture of possibility
with endless and mapping thoughts?

You and winged beasts
from dawn. Red and innocent –
open mouth and chants
from the sky… where
we belong as tinges
of intangible.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

I have the world

aarhus giant kid -

 

I have the world
like pulp
inside my fist.

The juice that drips
like concentrates
of dream.

Wait!

I refuse to describe you.

 

World you are in my grasp,
but I refuse to recite your
casual contents.

I have eloped with silence,
my petty pet.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

black wine

Wine Poetry 2011

I have closed my eyes.

In a mouthful of wine
the afternoons like throngs of mice
running hungry and wild down the gullet of
my absent body.

I taste in a nook of wine
oblivion- as a room
where existence breeds
in orgies of secret (and sweet)
mechanisms and laws.

It is all there with bubbles and stain.

My eyes are shut.

The coasts of my routine
full of drunk mist…
the departure – a breath – as a gust
of feeble constellations.

The sip.
Abrasive but fleeting.
Like the burn of a glimpse of sun.

My eyes are melting in black wine
while I drag the contours
of the untouchable world
into the invisibility of my sleep.

 

 

Poetry 2011

the process

chisinau_market_21st_century_poetry

The axis of third world haircuts

the bland greed of vodka drinkers

the pale skin of the lonely heart

the tomato sun of the market

the prison noise of the taxi-bus

the Cyrillic insistence of the numbered floor

the deathblow in the eyes of the stranger foe

–          Chisinau my jail –

the guilty joy of soaring through the clouds

the change and the chaos

the memory

and the wait.

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

I offer you

I offer you
the wicked cosmology
of my tongue

the desiccated sun
floating in the surface
of my thoughts

I have here for you
the language
of the flame

for you
the oval blaze
of nothingness
flowing
like light and mirror
inside the disfigured artery
of this dream

for you
the wet age
of my despair

in your hand
the gusts of my knowledge
storming
the crumbling walls
that divide
body and infinitude.

 

 

Poetry 2011

of salvation

To depart from equilibrium
incomprehensible
roads to destinations blackened
ideas of Hell, saints, criminals
suffering, redemption, death, exits,
they are daily bread for the hungry wreck;
is this still a world
I cannot speak of it
the internal voice is secret or alien
this flesh of unknown vapor
and desire guided by
intangible forces;
the cloud of life
is now dark and sorrowful,
the guilt of a single droplet
drowns entirely this mad domain,
in the soul the criminality of existing
is being laundered –
the quake !
unjust formulations of goodness
this rag of mind
dragged by hands fortuitous!
are these numbers and hours death
is it failure or a form of dream
my limbs are dying
the cascade of energy
expiring in the toilsome rage!
I desist the womb
and the world is a womb!
suffering of many lights
ache of myriad eyes
roped by nameless maledictions
there must be a drop
a fall
the divine grace and grave
of silence
but instead of divinity
suffusing this space eternal
pray for an open gross void
and salvation
the courage
to plunge into its
horror –
a soundless exit.