the day we died

             There were so many things
left to do
the city had abrupt faces, ideals
our hands were eager with schemes
so full of intent and consequence
the flavors we would discover
some of the poetry entailed
but our hands were sealed
collapsing monuments on the bed
our bodies were already heavy
with the black of time,
we decided to end our lives
as naturally as a flow of music
our destiny was a quiet ending
alone in that dualism of self and terror
we would begin to fall
now sleeping towards
the arms of a nestling hiatus,
we began our descent
down the throat of nullity
certain that this abandoned world
was only a first dream
and that reality was fully awake
at the dawning clouds of death.

Nihilistic Poetry

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