BASED ON

bukowski_burning_in_Water_drowning_in_flame

‘in the madhouse a man kisses the walls

and dreams of sailboating down some

cool Nile’

I have this book open at page 93.

I don’t know why.

It could have been another page

even another book.

if it belongs here

IN YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS (you fool)

should you consider

finding a knife

and begin carving the letters

of the thing of tomorrow

on that table in front of you

we are all arms around the world

and we share the flesh

and it’s going to be hard to explain

why bukowski decided to write

‘the dark is empty;

most of our heroes have been

wrong’

it is opposite of the page: part II

of his book Burning in Water

Drowning in Flame

was he dissatisfied with the idols

that humanity has been able to cough up so far

was he frustrated with the incomplete answers

that savants have left after more than

2500 years

we are left in the dark

as to the reason he decided to title

part 3 of that book:

At Terror Street
and Agony Way

imagine writing

‘it was a splendid way in Spring

and outside we could hear the birds

that hadn’t been killed

by the smog’

as a subtitle to your third chapter

was he implying

that it’s a miracle

that the morning is not stained

with our mumbling

that the evening is not polluted

with our parades

 

the last page

the last three lines

state unequivocally

I will never understand men

but I have lived

it through

 

AND I UNDERSTAND HIM

BECAUSE HE NOW SLEEPS

LIKE PLASMA IN A

CLOUD OF  MEMORY.

ANTIPoetry

my eyes and shiver

poetry_of_Shadows

There will be no more.
I will close my eyes
and shiver
as a wriggle in timelessness.

No tomorrow.

From the table
we put in our mouths
the last lesson of the bread,
we close the door
and the familiar unknown
disappears together with the
city noise.

There was no explanation
for this history of glimmers.

There will be no more:
injustice – no more form
and ideas will be lost
against the sounds of the bells.

The eyes will become simple silences,
clouded by the color of the music.

Everything will be resting
at last
under the warmth
& patience of the shadows.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

pablo unbound

Pablo unbound

Horribly dreamt
I have a street
its conceptual secrets
like invisible rage
I pertain to abandonment
it hurts to disappear
wakefully vanishing
in the gaseous actuality
I roam like invisible pain
hidden behind monstrous eyes
eavesdropping, like sun of insects
interminably the hour and a smile
release… release my skin
hurdled over blank shrub
my feet slither pass the common earth
alive with some deadly truth
I run
and shattered are
the windows of lies.

Existential Poetry

far away

Far Away Poetry

I am so far away,
the moment
is a scorching taste of whiskey
in my half-agape mouth
my hand curling
the hair of
chance

nonchalance

alas is for me a word
signifying wings

history is in my sensations

to end this night
in the consolation of death
being as gentle as
sleep

far away from what is believed,
towards the prismatic dispersal
of becoming again
transitory

so far away
aging with the journey
of name

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog 

out comes

puking poetry

By time
I was aware
the puke was everywhere spreading
like the universe
I could see traces
of yellow
and acid
pain spiraled in
this was suffering
but I
emptied
free of content
overtook space
as a substitute
to
existence.
 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

hum along

middle_finger_poem

Hum, hum, hum
metronome
numb, numb, numb
here I am gone
she flakes off
blue nail polish
thus we glide
in underground
tunnels
bum, bum, bum
my bore-dom
wrong, wrong, wrong
I’m undone
rum, rum, rum
I’m no fun
alone in the world
I am on the run.