arch

mystic poetry

It was not yet summer
when the light dissolved
absolutely over my tongue

I had to return to the past
as if digging
a ruthless hole in my skin
my veins my bones my sky

will the black worm
eat consume digest
reinvent me?

death is the smoke
we breathe in
to unfold like a cluster
of manifestation

passively
the dream
reposes inside the
shell of reality

in one drop
of philosophy
the solitude
is assuaged

but the aperture
the encounter
the expanse
available only
through the pristine
ache of mystery
and its pilgrimage
found in an alighting
morsel of
beauty.

Nihilistic Poetry

there will be poetry

There will be poetry

There will be poetry
as long as the world
swirls in mad convulsion

there will be poetry
as long as the world
is hidden truth with
dreary eyes

there will be poetry
as long as the world
is a road to the dead
silence

there will be poetry
as long as the world
covers us with the cold
skin of bitter mystery

there will be poetry
at 5am with glass o’
whiskey till the horizon
blends in with the empty sleep.

 

 

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