nihilistic poet

the placenta of being

Sacrament_of_poetry

My mind
is the drug
that hallucinates reality
uncoated veins and nerves
in contact with the truth
of a madman
I take a few steps
towards the keyhole of introspection
I inspect the pores of my otherness
thin pale hairs
creating a landscape of
solitary figures
in the grey white froth of subjectivity
out there, the sky
trembling and resigned
wringing out cotton static
purifying the streets
with afterlife and Aum
poetry is the sacrament
morphine for the cancerous
the unhatched gelatin lump
in the placenta of being. 

contemporary poet

numbers and illusions

The desert
the streets are made of sand
crumbling tombs, atoms
they are disintegrating
sidewalks and numbers
bleached, ambiguous
some street signs
echoes and hallucinations
this urban hell

streets turn into cities
cities into graves
graves into civilizations
worlds into multiple voids
this is not philosophy
but it tastes like it 

I, you, us
in a substance
quite unknown
still unidentified
that is the illusion of knowledge
secrets and denials
to become confessions
of the upcoming third millennia 

when you are the tip
no longer the base
you fall
fall you disappear
in quiet intangible

sleep.
Awake or not
wave upon wave
silence within silence
void delivering avoidance
what is the word
for the miracles

that keep us alive.