poem

The fallacy of existing

Existence Poetry

something set me         loose

abrupt and cryptic

sailing in a       medium

that infuriates me

                   headway headway

progress is like a precipice

i knew about the          rocks

long before my pessimism

took over

corroding the oars

                        my bores

counted like stars

yawning as naturally as breathing

boat body bodhisattva

drowning in the air

sinking in the blood

world   me                        (mindless)            me          world

nothing is so big and cavernous

so         ingrained

in occult emptiness

within the rising steam

of hot silence

            the anchor

the destiny

simultaneously my hunger

the greasy milk of the sea

fattening the grand course of solitude

scraping against the seabed

slowing the haste

            the waste

a motion brave and stupid

pushing me like a vessel

of filament

            farther              further             away

from the goal of existence:

 

stillness

 

 

 

 

Existential Poems

idealism

I’ve had the world
spinning on an idea
yet I never became
Schopenhauer
I never saw it good
or bad or evil
it was simply there
as a mystery
wordless play
and the more I look at it
the more it became
an idle dream. . .

 

 
 

Nihilistic Poetry

exit to enter

Gate to heart

All that I prophesy

is the way the world
spirals unto itself

there
space and dream
hibernate into consciousness

the product of my speech
is the withdrawal of meaning
in words
from reality to possibility

multiplying the interior
by tearing asunder
every perception
into further
fragments

ultimately
I have noise
as fur over the idea
of myself

beauty
sideways to phenomena
precipitates
towards the pinpoint
of         my
    heart

 

 

Modern Poetry Blog

out comes

puking poetry

By time
I was aware
the puke was everywhere spreading
like the universe
I could see traces
of yellow
and acid
pain spiraled in
this was suffering
but I
emptied
free of content
overtook space
as a substitute
to
existence.  

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

a matter of things

behind_the_scenes_pablo_saborio

It’s in the ambivalent
sense
of the word
terrific
that I encounter
the
ordinary
the plain
matter-of-fact
objects
that surround us
like fences
of yesterday
the external
inanimate junk
that seems
simultaneously
a reflection
of the sublime
the objective wasteland
that is
proportional
to the subjective Edens
it is in that sense
of duality
that
I see all things
as
the nascent
finite infinity.

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

meaning of this

meaninglessness_poetry

I was walking down
the streets
trying to perfect
my pronunciation
of the word
meaninglessness
I repeated it
frequently aloud
meaninglessness
meanínglessness
meaningléssness
meaninglessnéss
for a while I stopped
to look up at the
starry night
standing on bridges
and stare at the
water below
skim through neighborhoods
in dim artificial twilight
but then
I continued
meaninglessness
meaninglessness
like a meaningless
obsession had taken
hold of me
meaninglessness
meaninglessness
till suddenly
it was no longer a word
but absolute noise

 

I carried on
that night
in that meaningful chaos
that laid before me.

Bar 25

I’m all black ink
an exile sketch
varicose vein in the night
scents and trends
lead me to your derelict niches
porcupines of light piercing the dance floor
a thousand shiny faces of techno
human tentacles
up in the air
              exit
two stars
over my astray skull
if I could sculpt
this eccentricity
into
art.

to my brothers

Finger on Flame

you should have seen
when I put my fingers
over the flame
they smelt of Kerosene
a very obscene
scene
the piano lid shut
I could have composed
a sad sonata
for all the future drunks
that will die hung-over
without ever writing a poem
you should have seen
the coarse roar of my spleen
gave everyone a start
heavy heaving
I should have been
a line of serpentine smoke
rising from the hands
of a drunk
that will die
hung-over
never knowing
why he was
so
mean.

 


nihilistic poetry

a brief view on my own life

21st century poet

I wear thirteen-year-old T-shirts
but I spray them with the most expensive colognes around
I don’t buy them, only use the testers
I’m socially awkward so I might come close
to touch your hair without asking for your permission
you’d probably punch me
but I’ll say that I’m weird and sorry
I’ve never punched anybody in my life, please don’t hurt me
I’m not afraid to write a poem
when something beautiful touches me inside
I see my drunkenness as a preface to wisdom
when I drink a poem I become a mystic
when I peruse your vodka I become a breathing metaphor
I use my sadness as a dictionary
to decipher the language of modern civilization
I do not wish to bore you with my autobiography
when you are done, burn up this poem and use the flame
to warm up your soul.

 

modern poetry