Thanatos

thanatos_poem

House, an ambulance of thorns and the chairs. The dust
a coat of ghost upon furniture, reality – the hairs
in my nostrils a trembling unto death. Laughter,
a www or another milieu ripe with decadence
and the ballet of bullets in a new nation – forever?
The moon has grown without tasting an apple and
it explodes, one day, without leaving enlightenment
arrrrrrgh. or ash
in elevator low the masterpiece of low sound
the foreseen doom of leaving veins into
narrow corridors warehouse of worms wonder
the same bullshit because they die
and become little food
for grass/trees and
there goes the waiter with a white shirt
always a man with a face and a pack
of cigarettes and always Schopenhauer
in theater thinking of Thanatos et triviality
aid to disease and milestone quintessential
orb of alleviation, my dear anxiety
where like an angel will I see the light
and fly away morose like
some morsel masticated selflessly
because this house is curtain
and the blood is shiny
like mirror a sound
tired from abyss
in my hand
and tiny
thing
or
soul.

Contemporary Poetry

smallness

small poetry

by then
i had crossed
the reason

language was tender
naive and insipid

i was beginning to write
verse
with motion
perspective
a salving madness

i began asking
for the drop
to steal
heaven

a spark in the horizon
a mission
a long-drawn laughter
after the joke of life
had been exposed

it was with all the things
we came to know
that i crossed
the sadness

at last
alone

by the emptiness
of the road.

 

 

 

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