home and eternity

pocket of emptiness

We rest our heads
on the pillow of judgment
from there we dream
all the objects of sense;
our waking sleep is
coterminous with time’s throb
but a grey cloud
is home and eternity
and this life a quick illusion
that we nurse as a minuscule star
warmly wrapped in total emptiness

When I finished whispering this into her ear, she turned to me and said, ‘ I want your throbbing illusion inside my pocket of emptiness’.

And so philosophy ends.

Contemporary Poetry

on hollowness

What I employ
is not language
but the vivid shade
of movement and instinct
I have to be asleep
murmuring like a wide surface
of sea froth
twilight before the birth of pain;
my eyes expiring like new moons
in the obscure tingling of selfhood
only then
in that reflection
the hairs of the galaxies
sway like dark music,
the pupils expand
in one big womb of memory;
I remember
the place where the soul
used to be.





Nihilistic Poetry Blog

if there were

If there were something
to unify
I’d build a bridge
between partial reality
and the wholeness of nirvana;
had there been
something to rescue
I’d make an ark
from the planks of essence,
letting in, one by one, the species
of the invisible –
if there were something
with purpose
I’d carry it on my shoulders
till I could set it free
in a new meadow of illusion; –

if only there
were there something
other than me
around here.


Nihilistic Poetry Blog