poetry of nihilism

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

I must be mad

Everything you do
begins with a silence

you can traverse
the distances
that keep you away
from the divine
but you look back
and the starting point
is blurred
I have been pilgrimage
traveled far,
but
in relation to what?

all is opinion
the poet is a collector
of fragments
the pieces of modernity
scattered mercilessly
over the ruins of decay

the theory emerges
the broken data
a human heart
halfway down the
spear
I threw to infinity

an attempt to coexist
with the rational
and the irrational

landscapes of words
not yet
conceived

I give you the stars
for the constellations
you’ll hang
over the lake
of your
core.

 

 

nihilistic poetry

escapades

Bricks_Berlin_Germany

I sneak out
in the middle of the day
as a fugitive of conformity
I look around
searching for those
that wander solitarily
those poor souls
all alone
against the oppressive machine
of existence
then I separate myself
follow streets no one
follows
I look for long walls
like those of cemeteries
or abandoned factories
I tread their outer boundaries
bricks to infinity
protecting a mystery
that I must never invade
I return to words
the insufficient medium
life has me by my neck,
I am drunk with life
perceptibly drowning
in its fuel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

21st century poetry

 

faking pleasure

political poetry

lands
boundary
relative to
infinity and vacuums
my passport to being
in a Rorschach bureaucracy
never mix philosophy
with politics
my motto even whilst
severely drunk
yet

 

I remain silent
don’t
can’t
defend any position

 

let me pretend with
you
that this system
has foundations

 

like the planet
earth
resting on top
of an endless accession
of turtles
till
the end
of
space

 

I see their
heads.

 

 

flakes of self

thousand_self_poem

this life
is a flight
that with increasing
accuracy I’ve been able
to determine
is nothing but a free fall
and the sensation of flying
is produced by the lucky fortuity
that there is nothing to crash into
in this way, we drift down
spiraling through fields
of emptiness
and nobody knows
when it will end
or if it should end at all
so I’ve started to snap off
little pieces of myself
and blow them into the dark
till one day
there will be thousands of flakes
erratically swaying
in an atmosphere
devoid of destiny 
 
 
 

contemporary poetry

superhero stuff

I wasn’t going to give up
I stood up
probably looking like a fool
two steps back
and then a great leap
alighting on the nearest
caprice
that would fling me forward
in speeds unknown to men
far beyond the perimeter
of predictability
in amazement I was already
roaming the streets
the night crackling like firewood
in the midst of an entire
careless crowd
blind with mad desire
running through
the streets
and the smells
the drool
the sweat
I could taste everything
nothing could stop me
like a superhero of despair
that would not
give up
relentlessly swerving
through the eternal succession
of labyrinthine alleyways
I ran
ran
and ran
laughing
like a fool
because I would never
give up.

 

nihilistic poetry

pop song

Guitar poetry

If time had a sound
it would be the dark
arpeggio of a rusty guitar
and I’m unsure
why I chose a metaphor
for time
or why that image
should enter this poem
but I’ve been sitting here
not expecting anything
not certain of what to look forward to
all along
kinda swaying with
the wasting of every minute
almost audibly humming
to the repetitive chords
of this imaginary guitar
that someone could’ve picked up
along the way
to fill in the gap
the silent void
that sweeps through
the years.

nihilistic poetry

possessions

What do I have

What do I have
a book
and no convictions
perhaps
all I have is
this:
exiting a subway station
going up the steps
squeezed between
too many pedestrians
I hear every shoe
scrape against the cement
and stare at the spit
of punkasses
frozen at -13 Celsius
a night that howls
like a monster
but does not eat me
steps
aimless steps
driven mad
like the man
without a thought
that laughs
at the joke
of
eternity.
 

 

nihilistic poetry

down south

Nihilism Poetry

I’ll erase the ifs
on a one-way street
to perdition
till there is no more
ground to roam
crossing the enigmatic landscapes
whose symbols
remain incomprehensible
while the incandescent journey
coils spirals south
towards the dead-end;
then – a look back to
the effluvia of decisions
an impressionism of the past
of equal value
to the hallucinations of dreams
I remain dumbstruck
such as the puppet
performing an unlikely role
before the theater
of the night.

contemporary 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