approximations

21st century poet

Guesses
wide awake
yet engulfed
in bottomless dream
guessing
how to undress
be raw, nakedly raw
while the great wave of tomorrow
usurps all my vain hypotheses
the crystals in the air
swirl in entrancing patterns
I’m guessing
undecided
whether to cross this street
or return to the wreckage
that floats over the nothingness
of the world
then the mist descends
and engulfed again
in that sewer full of the debris
of revolutions and broken sciences
guessing
how to plant my heart
far away in the fields
where light
touches
light.
 
 
 

the here

contemporary_poetry_of_nihilism


The drops have gathered
on a window pane
the cactus has a plethora
of thorns
we’re basked in rays
of murky light
geometry used to be here
the man
naked
used to be sitting there
I saw the fractions
together with the entireties
the floor is cold
and we’ll never get
what we want,
and he’ll walk
over his doubts
like the last train
to disappear in the fog
with the centuries beginning
to smell of poetry
in bed
with the unbearable
possibility
of another day
to descend upon
him
and smother
the fragments
of the mind.

contemporary nihilistic poetry

nowhere to be found

Nowhere Lost

It felt like an absence
  because I found myself
naked and in darkness
the wood on which I sat
the timid air
the swollen imagination
could I repeat
my lucky survival once again ?
together, wed-locked
to the void that excites
me, to the nothingness
that caresses me, to the silence
that disintegrates me
I would remain
    somewhere, somehow
giving names to unknown
aspects of reality
    imagining myself naked
or aroused
  or isolated
or none of these
just then,
nowhere to be
found.

Nihilistic Poetry

Coherence

 

It is impossible to remain coherent. It is an effort beyond human ability – and wonderfully convenient, it is only humans that desire coherence. Life, if you allow it to be, is too intense; and if you look for the words to describe or preserve it, then this intensity travels from wonder to monotony. There is not one single day that is ordinary – only because we are so intimidated by existence that we willingly enter that repulsive state of awareness called “normality”, which is to say, a trivial encounter with known and familiar objects. So, hours may seem like pleasant arenas, where nothing may occur too unexpectedly; but certainly the night comes, or leisure, or what bothers us immensely: waiting comes and hours turn into monsters, ordinary things into blasphemies. We then need to escape, leave this desolate stability; we need chaos, disorder, frenzy! Why? Because all along we’ve faked our pretty little ordered world. We did not want to see things too deeply, we ignored them so we could continue our 9-to-5 placid existence. So, when our hypocrisy is too heavy to bear, we desire madly to return to the world we ignored – we want to embrace the enigmatic, to unite with what is becoming and does not yet bear a name. So we rush away from ourselves only to wake up the next day sick with regret, as if we betrayed ourselves by indulging too much in the irrational. We bounce from one end to the other, grasping for complete coherence on the one hand and on the other, we strip ourselves naked for our plunge into unadulterated confusion. We are unable to leave permanently the false illusion we’ve created, but we fear to stay too long at the other shore, where laws, customs, languages, thoughts and egos break down.

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