the blurry horizon is infinity itself



If we become survivors
the elect few
to renew the significance
of toil and dream,
if we are the last
two Rimbauds in lands
of shadow and cave,
what message will be engraved
in the red clay of poetry,
will we bring the knife close to earth
carving steep heavens on the surface of a rock?



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