Poetry

to the end of days

end of days poem

careless evenings
youth, dream, iron
with a fossilized joy in my face
I put on the chains
to await bitter destiny

it is freedom
far beyond art
it is an activity with no ideal
that I pretend to know

one day the hand that writes
transforms into rock
rock turns into sand
and that sand prolapses
into nothing

and a silent
gaze
is vestige
of vacuous past

in that haste
of a gamble
I fooled around with desire
noise and love,
reckless towards
the assemblage
of oblivion

 

Nihilis
tic Poe
try

of fields

I shall be of slavery
sobbing in the night
when the moon is hidden
behind a fantastic mountain

I shall be of anger
heat upon heat
glowing insanely white
alone in the dawning desert

I shall be of lies
blood gurgling above
as the stars drown
in its sea of disease

I shall be of number
when the bronze prophecy
casts the skeleton of the fields
where children remember nothing

I shall be of incense
a sound perfuming clouds
or a string wringing time
leaving the last drop to dry

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

the nascent act

The Nascent Act Poem

it is the air expanding
leaning invisibly
on the things
that lie awake
in the oblivion of
our acts

it’s in the hair
how it flees
description
under a delirium
of nods

it is your hand playing
with the light and motion
of a naïve hour

a choice
forever collapsing
in the past

it is melancholy
beading slowly
these pearls of remembrance
in the wasteful hand
of a poet.

 

 

 

Poems

there will be poetry

There will be poetry
as long as the world
swirls in mad convulsion

there will be poetry
as long as the world
is hidden truth with
dreary eyes

there will be poetry
as long as the world
is a road to the dead
silence

there will be poetry
as long as the world
covers us with the cold
skin of bitter mystery

there will be poetry
at 5am with glass o’
whiskey till the horizon
blends in with the empty sleep.

 

 

More Poems

the Human

There was never a door
much less an keyhole
no answers to the secret of life

the prophets of despair
proclaimed total obscurity in life
at death everything muddled
forever

the Human
not much more than a succession of acts
performed for an audience of blind eternities

mere rustling of leaves
from the tree of desolation
no trunk to hold on to
no root to call god

so it is to be a function
consciousness
a fluke of evolution
a secondary property of the body
aiding its inconsequential survival

so it is to exist in the universe
that does not exist for the Human
an arbitrary dream with an irrational plot

in the cold ache of waiting
engulfed in lurid perceptions
awaiting the sudden “Cut –
it’s a wrap” of time

merely life… I say
                            merely life

 

Merely Poems

To the history of the human spirit

Human Spirit Painting
a furious dream of the human
spirit bourgeoning out of control
we are of dew ephemeral
blades of song touching oblivion of grass
textures of meaning
in a masquerade of folly
wistfully crowing the surface
little drops of being
little shrouded animals
of extinction and myth
            nothing
            becoming
            nothing
            above
            nothing
            inside
            nothing
            for
            nothing

 

nihilistic poetry