A day’s surface
its skin of smoke
ASTRAY
The world escapes
flickering like
a stream of thought
A glaring red instant
Remains
as the incomprehensible
dream of
e
m
p
t
i
n
e
s
s
.
modern poetry
empty course
The petal has rivers
long opulent light against the breast
solely swirls in silent colors
my skin upon the sky’s skin –
certainties are wrestling
over collapsing possibilities
the leap has a tinge of sorrow
the chain rattles
a river of petals
aging
on an empty
course to bliss.
.
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
red purpose
purl –
all being
swollen
in niches .
scattered salt
on the bare table
as solitudes of rock
an image of a cloud
like an errant soul .
red paint –
the smell of transmutation
a simple
color serving as garment
for the brief
invisible visit
of purpose.
Nihilistic Poetry Blog
on hollowness
What I employ
is not language
but the vivid shade
of movement and instinct
I have to be asleep
murmuring like a wide surface
of sea froth
twilight before the birth of pain;
my eyes expiring like new moons
in the obscure tingling of selfhood
only then
in that reflection
the hairs of the galaxies
sway like dark music,
the pupils expand
in one big womb of memory;
I remember
the place where the soul
used to be.
Nihilistic Poetry Blog
of becoming
The possession of my self
in the refraction lonely
something sees as I
the trembling skin
of bright tomato
and someone desires
to lay bare on its surface
light like reflection
of a lamp
the map of understanding
may be indifferent
to axis of human
thinking
nothing belongs to earth
and the real
billows
on the dream
of matter.
Nihilistic Poetry Blog
lip of dawn
how could I begin
when the earth below
me
clusters in great furrows
of graphic skin
its glimmer trapped
in pockets of wrinkles
with the open slit
of red dawn
the opening lips
of a raw horizon
with my imaginary blood
in its arc,
‘ how ’
in this awry mirror
to begin
and inevitably
to end ?
Nihil
ist
ic
tiny epoch
what was that?
the color of the wind
or the order of the lips,
my hand in contortion
touching the intangible surface
of fiction;
I left the building
out
there
the night pinching the street
like a hungry jaw
the naked trees
as real as
the limbs of insects,
I wanted to remain
prostrated
on the sidewalk
like the dim casting glare
of the streetlamp,
nameless
in that minute
with all the beauty
of fact –
no longer possibility
but plain actuality,
a happy yellow leaf
in its autumnal decay
enduring its
tiny epoch
of death.
mystic flowers
I let go of the beard
and eyelids of God.
It will rain, the eyes of the earth
will go blind, white breathless turmoil.
A boy with books and grand prophesies,
composing the sadness of the final silence.
An epoch to remember what I wanted.
The river of visions carries skin and mirror,
a noise of nowhere and nobody’s scent.
What beastly ache to be a fleeting universe
with no country except the island of thought.
I have no beard and the nausea of mountains;
I have in my mouth the salty meat of the soul.
Nihilistic Poetry Blog
of the contemporary
We have landed
in the experience
to reenact
the dance and
drunkenness
of stellar events
it is all
ignorance and
pure movement
in the field
of
now.
Beyond Language 
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