poetry of despair

finality

Finality Poetry

 finality
run by a strength
gathering in every bouquet of fire
that my lungs take in
in the crushed earth of my heart
with the noisy smoke of the blood
running stronger still
digesting the night as the sweetest charcoal
drunk with fire, hot demise
swimming in the lurid steam of desire
making love under the encroaching moon of suffering
the hand sloughing the disease of touch
the temptation to feel,
my goodness,
the strength that has gathered
spewing boulders as wild bullets of despair
impossible to even begin telling
about the layers and the failed anchors,
such force
is a miracle of the body
an outcome of the rocks and veins
a mistake of the mind;

finally
nothing can be revoked

 

poetry blog

a personal account

Bloodless war

So this is my
bloodless combat
a fight to death
when I have no flag
behind me to endorse
to glorify
I can sneak up behind time
strangle her
only later to be
grieving that nothing ever happens
I may surround all of matter
near midnight
obliterate it in one bright flash of idealism
only later to regret
that the mind is equally senseless
and then all the personal things
work grudges, love fractures, intoxication cravings, unspoken family sorrows
all those tanks, Morse codes, handheld grenades, isolated trenches
that I must overcome, decipher, throw away, endure
when I still don’t have a flag of purpose
to endorse
to glorify
should the inconceivable happen:
                 victory


to what homeland should I return
if this war
suddenly comes to an end?

 

 

Modern Poetry

it’s not always easy

The iris
expands
way beyond
the circumference of light itself
that stare you give me
makes my skin
rockhard reptilian
immersion is your talent
deluge as dissatisfaction
till I drown from inertia
your heart is a fish
in the reddest sea
my bait is saline love
your iris is a flying saucer
abducting my hope
nothingness is two feet away
but I’m afraid to look
in this sad world of ours
eyes should have been
history’s greatest revolution.

 

 

modern poetry

night-voiced

Sadness, Despair Drunk Poetry

The sadness of the rain
falls
over the happiness of process
we go down to the corners
and take a piss
to avoid the police
and the exuberance of being guilty
then we go back inside
where despair is dissipated
towards the music
and
the noise
makes us forget all the pain
that made us cry in the dark
of a summer night
let’s be brave
betray
so we drink, drink, drink
and then we talk
talk and talk
the flowers on the wallpaper
made with the scent
of the spring
we never had
this is the wood
the glass
the concave walls
the drunk echo
nobody will record
for the annals
of
history.


21st century poetry

Supine bewilderment

bedroom shadow poetry


What muscle can I use
to lift despair
despair that’s agape and out of words
hope-coated despair
that keeps us waiting for a train
that was never built;
while the body of the universe
convolutes in acrobats and yogas
I feel like a cramp
at its heel
what is my next move –
let the future be?
but this future
is a dividing wall
between us and our _____
                   (enter your raison d’être here)
I have a sledgehammer
but only atrophied muscles
to do the job.

nihilistic poetry

the way of the poet

21st Century Poetry

I call this
my turning hour
the imperceptible motion
from a fifty-nine
to a double-zero
I live this instant
in the streets
the cold cave of Europe
here, I wander aimlessly
I wonder incessantly
my stomach is turning too
hungry and drunk
let’s rock and roll
in the zeitgeist
that no history
will ever
record.

 


21st Century Poetry

catharsis begun

Fetus Hand Poetry

The days have expired
if I was once a shadow
now I am smoke
tomorrow?
perhaps the empty pause
between two despairs
the sky is black tar
my distant vault
stained by the vapor
of every perspired minute
I made my hands cups
the recipients of beauty
but it would not rain
clear skies with
excess of stars
dizzied by this overhead
backdrop
I made up posthumous names
for my fetus hands

tomorrow?

a lie
a song
a purposeless
flight.

 


 modern poetry

the final hours

Bare
on the floor
bare
with our heads
facing
the final precipice
of tomorrow
words coming
like agonies
born from the regret
of the entire universe
our eyes
etceteras of tears
unable to listen
the ticks of the clock
in the morning
light,
inebriated with
the perspective of escape
bare and obliterated
on the top floor
of a building
alongside
oblivion.
 
 
 

(a true story)
contemporary poetry

the tunnel

Tunnel_nothingness_Nihilism_Poetry

pain rains
on me
like sleet
shaken off
the grey clouds
by a bored god
careless
in his steps
a punishment that
comes to me
for being a murderer
of silence,
interrogating
the rows
of bartenders
pleading them
to help me set up
a light
at the end of
the dark tunnel
of time
a beacon
so the alienated crowd
could finally
stop the frenzy
when they
see
it’s only a tunnel
and nothingness
at the end.

 

                          contemporary poetry

true living

What I call true living

is found at the periphery of all modality

after a week of uninspiring tragedies

petty, yes

small unrecognizable anxieties

a tiny indulgence

like a return to a temporary home

that is true living, to say

“I am a great sufferer”

and drink the bottle

to curse the others

after a nagging narcissism

pretends to obliterate a reason

to go on breathing. 

 

That is true living

to hold tight to the street

wayfaring, intoxication

denial

a great wide hole

alive alas

at the bottom of any common asphyxia

true living

is the edge

  the final wound.

Nihilistic Poetry