nihilistic poetry

distillation

poetry distillation

the shape of your neck
wrestling with my focus

I could have smiled
and twirled a spoon
in my coffee
to taste the dimensions
of your spiraling
lips

I’ve wondered
how your body
would resist
being against a window
freezing like dew
in the dawn

all that we study
to forget
the longitude
of an instant

laughter
– yours –
dripping
from above
and there is no
sky here

let’s repose
and dissolve
like heat
ripples
from a distance

over
an unfamiliar
path.

nihilistic poetry

of whatness

piece of truth

what
was
it

this
fable
of deformities

life

when all
thought
is of the size
of a grain
of rice

and you shave
to feel the snow
on your cheeks

clueless

of how you
indefatigably
will love
the next
occurrence

in this
fable
of ideal
encounters
with something
real.

 

 

 

NIHILISTIC Poetry

the world of men

World of men

I cannot wait
to be in your teeth
ripped apart
in black disguise
by your plotted fangs
and crushing grand schemes
I can’t wait
to be flotsam
that nobody finds
in your sea of control
rotten planks
sinking into an insignificant
quiet disappearance
I cannot wait
a minute longer
to be fake rice
in your fields of expansion
never becoming
more than a spot
of white nothingness
amidst your supreme
everything .

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

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

dreaming rock

dreaming_rock_poetry

No matter
what I write
this will never bear a name
all creation falls through
the empty sky
always falling
no hands here
to catch and retain
anything
no matter what
my memory is always empty
it has no truth
no one is here
to witness anything
the mind is uninhabited
and uncharted
a rock fell asleep
and this is its dream.

 

 

 

Nihil
ist
ic

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

tiny epoch

Street poetry

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.

 

 

nihilistic poetry

mystic flowers

Mystic flower poetry

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