nihilistic poems

A CHILDREN’S POEM: THE WORM

nihilistic doom

 

 

Feeding the worm
that lives inside
having stuffed it with thoughts
ideals, systems of philosophy,
eschatological speculations,
until it grew so large
to eclipse the sun, the moon,
the mountains, the town, the cars,
the flowers and the dirt
it grew beyond measure
did it deserve to be feed
the pie of beauty
the pudding of truth –
this worm has left
my body and took with it
all my emotions and desires
it roams freely
children point their little yellow fingers
insatiable it has begun to devour
the arts, the sciences, religions, presidents, continents
even the élan vital of destiny: chance
the universe is its next craving
but it will not stop there
it is hungry for infinity
for the coarse meat of eternity
and ultimately the crust of nothingness
that encompasses all of reality itself;
this children’s poem
will too be eaten
to remain inside the primeval gut of the worm
shifting forms buried under undigested elements
earth wind fire water shadows constellations
everything revolves in the undifferentiated ooze
the words of this poem
will be so far apart of each other
there’ll be layers of love sorrow ecstasy
tears silence in between them

children
nothing will survive

because the worm
will eat itself
one day.

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

now that the earth

Now that the entire world
has retreated to a thaw
now that from a rooftop
I see a raw galaxy dangling
from the beak of a bird
now that the earth
is a great rippling mantle
like a set of loose hair in a golden head
now that the entire world
as soft and pliable as moist leaf of tobacco
now that the planet is flotsam
drifting in the viscous current of sensation

now
we can sleep
in its academy of colors
now
we immerse our heads
in the surrounding cradling
dream

Nihilistic Poetry

of consciousness

parcel_of_consciousness1

peeling off the whiteness
of stream
of consciousness

washing it
with the sterile lore
of silence

preserving its restlessness
in the hermetic jar
of time

feeding it the shadow
of leaves

the crumbs of wind
that I find

warming it
with the thick songs
of essence

talking to it
with the vowels
of night and day

loving it
despite
the shapeless ache
it leaves in my
heart

Nihilistic Poetry

all day inside

All day
within blank

withdrawn
nothing but the hard
pillows of my thoughts

dead past
hauled by brittle filaments
of memory

the vast tomorrow
so enormous
it’s still uncertain
whether its obese fingers
can fit in my door
and carry me away
into its dark irresolute
secret

a window is opened
a whiff of essential black fate

I’ll sleep with a key over my chest
as if the heart can open its vault

to love
vis-à-vis
the engine
of the unknown

Nihilistic Poetry

a day in april

motion poetry

The standstill motion
of the substance
around us

in a flicker
the wood is a infant body
laying on the arm
of a ray of sun

the hourglass has
a plan to move
the shadows

the incense is dead
reeking like a
flame of pus

the instant sails
through all the events
carried by the wind of memory

with a transparent dress
a ghostly rain
is expected to sweep
up the remains
the fragments

in an untitled and random quest

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

minute details

Life will destroy you
and there won’t be any more words
to describe our love for
that which never came
into existence

imagine a bud
leaves in slow bloom
ages upon minutes
minutiae upon epochs
for a product
that never is finished
but goes on
from seed to form
back to dust and roam

life is strange
with surges of anxiety
I contemplate
its rather statuesque secrets

there will be no more words
or feelings or understanding
when the cerulean mouth of death
takes us in its mouth
under its pulpy tongue
and down the
infinite hole
of silence

 

 

i

I’m tired
of the heights –
of all the philosophies
of stars
of all the cosmologies
of tears

my bed now
is the corner
of a passing second
I let the rain in
to drown
all the intelligent answers

I want to be
as ordinary
as a crumb of bread
on your sleeve
or as the mustache
that is shaven every day

I’m tired
of all the pompous
universes that we dream
and of the fantasy and sorcery
of constellated thoughts

my mission
now
is to dissolve as
bits of soup
in the drain
or
broken fingernails
in the dirt

the whirlpool of wisdom
comes to a halt
and I am
as cold and tame
as a shadow
lying
under a streetlamp
every minute
of every night.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

a future odor

rose poetry

A rose with its minds
blown off
because songs are dreaming eyes
the walls are stained with words
only listless hearts can erase their meaning
the epoch always without windows
we dress in smoke and carry guns of nebulae
and if there is agony
do not blame it on the category of your faults
like memory the numbers of pain will one day be outgrown
by a senseless architecture of self
one must oblige to the pressure of the evening
and if hairs have fallen from the holy hour
in giant swirls of time we’ll be as if
we’ve never been
a rose with its desires
crushed to a
solitary perfume
of clouds.

 

Absurd Poetry

of grass

I’m in transit

seeking still
the passage
between skin
and universe

the boundaries
have begun to turn
into long
horizons of
coiling water

soon, I gather,
life and death
will collide
in one
tidal splash
of beauty

and I shall
stop
moving

and lay my head
on the meaning
of grass.

Nihilistic Poetry