a furious dream of the human
spirit bourgeoning out of control
we are of dew ephemeral
blades of song touching oblivion of grass
textures of meaning
in a masquerade of folly
wistfully crowing the surface
little drops of being
little shrouded animals
of extinction and myth
nothing
becoming
nothing
above
nothing
inside
nothing
for
nothing
I once knew
a thing
called
the world,
it used to follow me
as intimately
as my shadow,
it would never
leave my side.
It would stand
tall and intimidating
behind my back,
often murmuring
its evil plans.
I gathered the nerve
one day
to look back at it,
in a quick swoosh
I turned with a
loud
AHHHHHH!
the poor thing
ran away in fright
leaving behind
a dizzying
blur.
That was the day
I got rid of the world,
only to find nothingness
quickly picking up
my trail.
I can hear it gorging
the vast prairies of infinitude
that were left exposed
after the bulky world
was cut away.
No need to run.
For you see,
in this state of freedom,
here is there
there is here.
As for nothingness,
I can’t wait
to kick its
universal ass.
If I move
then this should
not exist
I am writing
because because
never existed
I am angry
I am ecstatic
I am so many words;
yet what remains is
opposite to all
pronunciations
I am a feather
that draws in water
but leaves no
ripple behind
its art
I am existing
to experience
the rush of disappearing
to crash into existence
the roaring vehicle
of silence
where’s the off switch
for all
endeavors
the icicle of reason
has melted
leaving a small puddle
of fictions
at my feet
and we will build
and build
assemble great systems
to the outer edge of the milky way
and back
the civilizations, the civilizations
with its civilians hooraying
their democracies pushing
the sciences inventing
the artworks embellishing
the museums and the highways accelerating
the capital erecting
the monuments
of the great laughter of achievement
while the black smoke of reality
swirls
into nothingness dreamt.
Nihilistic Poetry
No reality,
reality does not satisfy me
and it hasn’t tried hard enough
to sugar me up
I need alcohol
to soften the rough edges
of futility
I need chemicals
to inebriate the chemicals
of my brain
only then
reality
is reality
I can
surrender
to.
A portrait of nothingness –
the tininess in between the worlds
the invisible underlying cup
a blank canvas for the painted universe
absent undisturbed gulf
the sleep that dreams me
while I play hardball
with the junkies of pursuits.
It was in the disfigured arrangement of thoughts
that I found the elements of art
prompted by the vision
of aging cells reversing into nothingness
sparkles bones disappear
nothingness engraved in being
life feeding from that source
the beautiful ugliness of my thoughts
unfinished – poisoned
myriad of eyes, arms, despairs, trash
tending my lost confused body
on the stillness
of poetic
landscapes.
Beyond Language 
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