language as crust

language_as_Crust

really believing
two of the greatest
musical quivers
boundlessly

I burst quite sick
into history
with how many heads
always holding symphony,
art otherwise despair

consider one literary
thing, make it your bed
and invariably perish
simultaneously with every
thing else

really believe
an absolute nature
factually accused
of producing
nothing

to be a seer
more indeed than describe
but misconstrue
into artless paralysis

walking in reality
but in truth
to bear torrential
truth

do not enter
a tree or song
but life

life, nay, breathe
into something featureless
who knows what reasons
mysterious dissolved them
as examples of this process

merely accept this object
as contour groped in darkness

possibly decades
in the making
itself a memory ago
where I promised
to write language
as crust enveloping
experience

Contemporary Poetry

simulacra

city_Existence

I have never tasted the world.

With skin, I cannot live as a man

in a city simulation.

Before it rains the landscape

sober despite action.

I did not walk across

the surface of awareness

. Pure angst that it is.

Imagine happiness like held thunder.

When something is new

its artificial language displaces the

characteristics of the innovation.

But I’ve prayed for the earth

to dissolve as a drug on

my tongue. And extend

a bridge between truth

and this movement.

The blood stands in the way

like a mural of total redness.

 
I’ve never tasted the world.
With this skin that can only mirror susurrations.

 

Contemporary Poetry

arch

mystic poetry

It was not yet summer
when the light dissolved
absolutely over my tongue

I had to return to the past
as if digging
a ruthless hole in my skin
my veins my bones my sky

will the black worm
eat consume digest
reinvent me?

death is the smoke
we breathe in
to unfold like a cluster
of manifestation

passively
the dream
reposes inside the
shell of reality

in one drop
of philosophy
the solitude
is assuaged

but the aperture
the encounter
the expanse
available only
through the pristine
ache of mystery
and its pilgrimage
found in an alighting
morsel of
beauty.

Nihilistic Poetry

of becoming

Becoming mist

The possession of my self
in the refraction lonely
something sees as I
the trembling skin
of bright tomato
and someone desires
to lay bare on its surface
light like reflection
of a lamp
the map of understanding
may be indifferent
to axis of human
thinking
nothing belongs to earth
and the real
billows
on the dream
of matter.

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

the process

Chisinau Central Market

The axis of third world haircuts

the bland greed of vodka drinkers

the pale skin of the lonely heart

the tomato sun of the market

the prison noise of the taxi-bus

the Cyrillic insistence of the numbered floor

the deathblow in the eyes of the stranger foe

–          Chisinau my jail –

the guilty joy of soaring through the clouds

                        the change and the chaos

the memory

            and the wait.

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

of the living

Routine streets

Of the living
clod of reality,
the bladed streams
of circumstance,
in the incinerated rush
of experience;
miracle of memories,
the enigmatic ordeal
of existing –
postponed,
quietly repressed
in the lethargic hum
of your
original routine!

 

21st century Poetry

the pretension of analgesia

Pretension of analgesia

I observe myself moving
rather consistently and sensibly
riding my bike in accordance to
god-knows-what prospect
going up steps dandily
sipping tea effortlessly

simultaneously

throbbing anguish
a howl permanently
outstretched, a gash
of purulent sound
like the grumbling
of a terribly cynical
mind

therefore
I am
nonplussed by

so innocent normality
I pretend to embody

while the hostility of the unknown
goddamned world
corners me to the tiniest
spot inside the human soul
almost immobile
condemned to see life as a
glassed-in fish

while in fact

I’m the last conscious thread
dangling atop the
immense abyss
of noise, shape and paradox
unquestionably a plaything
of innumerable forces and trickery;
bearing the high formulations of daily destiny
with a stupid smile and
hardwired etiquette –
all the while
expecting the towering walls
of reality
to finally to collapse
and bury me
in their
filthy falsity

Poetry