by the wish

Dandelion Close Up

I don’t talk much
what’s going to happen
probably doesn’t

that my silence
travels here
nowhere else

unshuffled words
my ideas circle
like moths
about a light
inconsequence

too bad
I aborted eternity
for
this spurious
paradox
of
life.

 

Nihilistic Poetry

nowhere to be found

Nowhere Lost

It felt like an absence
  because I found myself
naked and in darkness
the wood on which I sat
the timid air
the swollen imagination
could I repeat
my lucky survival once again ?
together, wed-locked
to the void that excites
me, to the nothingness
that caresses me, to the silence
that disintegrates me
I would remain
    somewhere, somehow
giving names to unknown
aspects of reality
    imagining myself naked
or aroused
  or isolated
or none of these
just then,
nowhere to be
found.

Nihilistic Poetry

They were there…

There they were, shattered

      sidewalks murderous sidewalks

frozen in their disorder, fractured by black color

     and had to reach down

        and pain their unfeeling scars

but this is not about sidewalks,

               it resembles that primordial awe

or the seven cold nights of tribesmen

         it intimates with old necessity

and the heavy mist that kills without moving

   because further down by the hollow blackness

            of cracked sidewalks and rapid decay

desasosiego, was called once in Spanish

           spontaneous hymns of indigent earth

shadowless religions with no clouds on their backs

       noiseless disaster tamed by echoed habits

stepping beyond – further into hopeless air

                 and with it, the truth concealed

hidden encounters with the ultimate Inexplicable

        certainly having probed the depths of terror

the animosity of rebellion and the flakes of solitude

      in what seems like ages of torment and desasosiego

         by the unknown light of trembling – hardened

frozen and broken like irrelevant sidewalks

           forgiving the ancient errors of willing blindness

alone, amongst these detached blocks of cold cement

           my finger slithered their gaps,

and call me mad, lost and nocturnal – again,

           I was nowhere, in calm beauty:

my irrelevant isolation.

Children of nowhere

Those rotten truths and the atrophy of written words

life is outside the inferno of cadaverous literature

the ever-increasing waste of past thoughts

attempting impossible resurrections

                            free the world from fossilization

allow it to burn and dismiss its ashes

our best experiences are never contained

            they roam beyond the frontiers of definition

close those covers of inky nothingness

            step into the bare unadulterated flux

                             mend with the unknown

Flee from cages of routine and metropolitan nonsense

recognize the hollow of every day

            reject the veil of prospects and careers:

                              usurpers of wonder and transformation

children of nowhere

            creators of ambiguity

exorcise the daemons of logic

                             celebrate your insanity!

 

 

 

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