hues of time

I remember

the night

I left the cold earth

hum and smoke

leaving the table

I recall

drunk yellow mirror

clean as a koan

in the midnight laughter

after a few exhausting sighs

I remember

being of wood stone and remnant

colliding with the sounds

in flight with the seagulls –

the coitus of light

and erect darkness

water essences

splashing in metallic

eruptions of silence

and life below as weed

flourishing in the gravel,

a small pocket of existence

green, trammeled within

a nook of hallucinated earth;

the wind comes along

to stroke our hairs

I remember

the lazy morning light

stretching on the ground

sleeping next to our shadows

in a way

so real

that I dipped my hand

between the furrows of noon

releasing the song and fury

of all ephemeral hues.



Nihilistic Poetry

Façade (or the ontology of walls)

the walls have existed
alone before I was born
in spirit molding matter
a presence alighting on our fields
against nothingness, they have existed
floating above the secret –
the walls, the reticent walls
sustaining their own weight
sustaining pale coats of paint
alone before I was born
alone after we all die
the walls of buildings
where to keep my shadows
a sojourn a refuge
a stairway into the basement – more than that
a sorrowful edge
the walls stand sloughing the horizon
the walls stand seeping the miracle
they have existed
long before I had set my eyes
on their silent countenance
long before their bricks
congealed into purposeless

Modern Poetry


Absurd Poetry


have you seen
splash wide
into a cascade
on the urinal wall
running freely
down the slope
of its white surface
wildly awake
before entering
the oblivious hole,
how I envision
all my decisions
thrusting forward
like a jet of pee
smashing against
the white mural of life,
how they would collapse
and stain the blank episode
of time
and inevitably surrender
like a trickle
that is swallowed
by a whirlpool of death…




dreaming rock


No matter
what I write
this will never bear a name
all creation falls through
the empty sky
always falling
no hands here
to catch and retain
no matter what
my memory is always empty
it has no truth
no one is here
to witness anything
the mind is uninhabited
and uncharted
a rock fell asleep
and this is its dream.





of riddles

Hunger of blue void
the mirror of the sky
like a desk where I write
the big numbers of silence –
light blue song I imagine
traveling the fields of
my childhood, was
there a wrong window
in the house, an opposite
shadow to the sun?
Hunger blue beginning.
I’m ready to wrap the folds
of the blue world around me
and sleep, like an inebriated god,
through the eternities and the distances
of the missing answer.

Nihilistic Poetry

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
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
the crumbling walls
that divide
body and infinitude.



Poetry 2011

an attempt to understand


Motion of orange limb
cloudlike epicenter
in the mindful gap
of my vision –
bulging multitudes
of dismay
faraway kaleidoscope
in the origin of the mind,
of dense, opulent
location – married to
chance and improbability,
the bread of destiny
in the ruthless jaw of divine
novelistic forces –
a day here
and a bulge of eternal
spiraling towards each other
like the allegories
of the eternal return
and the empty


Poetry 2011

above distinction

Is there a possibility
of ache and wonder

some knowledge
of cave and cadence

has man
any recognition
of the dream
in the edifice
of infinity

the sun
is drowning
in red essence

like a butterfly
in flight


sketches of quintessential

of reality

the blurry steps
of the passage of time
limbs moving, solitary breath
dying streams of flesh

darkness with short
explosions of light

everything is metamorphosis
formlessly attached
to the mind

the visible is unexplored
nobody sees the becoming

the world
into my soul?

the greatest adventure

to have all the
planets in view

to be a leaf

and die like a

Nihilistic Poetry