reality

elements of logic

Elements of poetry

the relationship
between
pen and poet
image and reality
truth and death

in essence
eclipse
me

these are merely
attempts
to
validate
my impotence
in matters of
ultimate reasons

the truth is soulless
the soul is decadence
decadence is poetic
beauty has to be discovered

with these lines
nothing is certain
but
after my death
they cannot
be
otherwise

an axiom that is simultaneously
a preposition

as an aspect of infinite action

all poetry is excerpts
prismatic layers
of the unknown mind

mysterious voices
crucified on paper
in
awe

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

something near

Something Near Life

 

 

and so it was,
poetry: a deliberate madness
serene, thoughtful, full of strange distances
hanging names on the limbs of details
giving sound a place to rest
all things visited from sidelong silences
things: worshipped and often obscuring
the sudden flight of city birds
exactly because my sight was bolted
to that eerie spasm of the sky
the spaces neglected for the general purpose
of a somnolent rain
I speak: world
in order to feel: existence
the challenge of light and above all ideas
pulverized movement near disfigured events
dates as calmly as pulsations
inventing, attempting, redefining
something that enters the invaded dream
  the inundated reality that spears me.

 

 

Nihilistic 
Poetry

the great civilization

The Great Civilization

where’s the off switch
for all
endeavors

the icicle of reason
has melted
leaving a small puddle
of fictions
at my feet

and we will build
and build
assemble great systems
to the outer edge of the milky way
and back

the civilizations, the civilizations
with its civilians hooraying
     their democracies pushing
the sciences inventing
         the artworks embellishing
the museums and the highways accelerating
     the capital erecting
              the monuments
of the great laughter of achievement

while the black smoke of reality
swirls
into nothingness dreamt.

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

I am an egoist

I am an egoist
the tides of the galaxies
are for my amusement alone
the backdrop of the world
is the stage for the drama
of my sadness
I have eternity as my own
reality-show
the concatenation of events
stroll before me as a parade
offered to a king…
but as a king
I still yearn for more
I look for the edge of existence
looking, as it were,
for something else
something not yet invented
lurking behind the world of things,
perhaps a mist
belonging to another reality
untouched by this world;

                a thin fog
I surmise,
                     of impossible bliss.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

busy living

reality hallway

No reality,
reality does not satisfy me
and it hasn’t tried hard enough
to sugar me up
I need alcohol
to soften the rough edges
of futility
I need chemicals
to inebriate the chemicals
of my brain
only then
reality
is reality
I can
surrender
to.
 

Modern Poetry

the way of the wayward

Failure
was the ace up my sleeve
my get out of jail free card
my existential loophole
having failed
I was out of the race
competing only with the skies
my midget adversary – ambition
too afraid to follow me into the wilderness of the wild
I am free
to make any nook on this earth a cumulous heaven
make a straw bed for my sleep-drunken poems
on any day of my open-ended agenda
to make a living on the question:
               is this all real?

 

Modern Poetry

poets should keep quiet

who needs words
paper trojans!
inky farts!
infectious buzz!
belligerent blindfolded data!
classicist’s hard on!
bimbo parenthetical!
tomboy aphorism!
divorce schism-stamp!
bubbler vituperation!
unconscious monologue!
irrelevant ode!

 

what more is there to tell
when reality is full of cracks
ready for my mind-bending penetration!

 

it is in your cleavage
golden mother substance
that I surrender
as a drowning pinpoint
awaiting the thump
at the bottom
of the
rootless
age.

 

 

Modern Poetry

the placenta of being

Sacrament_of_poetry

My mind
is the drug
that hallucinates reality
uncoated veins and nerves
in contact with the truth
of a madman
I take a few steps
towards the keyhole of introspection
I inspect the pores of my otherness
thin pale hairs
creating a landscape of
solitary figures
in the grey white froth of subjectivity
out there, the sky
trembling and resigned
wringing out cotton static
purifying the streets
with afterlife and Aum
poetry is the sacrament
morphine for the cancerous
the unhatched gelatin lump
in the placenta of being. 

contemporary poet

approximations

Guesses
wide awake
yet engulfed
in bottomless dream
guessing
how to undress
be raw, nakedly raw
while the great wave of tomorrow
usurps all my vain hypotheses
the crystals in the air
swirl in entrancing patterns
I’m guessing
undecided
whether to cross this street
or return to the wreckage
that floats over the nothingness
of the world
then the mist descends
and engulfed again
in that sewer full of the debris
of revolutions and broken sciences
guessing
how to plant my heart
far away in the fields
where light
touches
light.
 
 
 

21st century poetry