killing the air

Photography Poetry

I have tread many countries
but the distances that
have furrowed
my brow
have been traveled
along the course of a spiral
leading my wandering thought

I am intent on killing the air
merely by breathing in it
rending asunder
the many horizons
that lead us back
to this
moment

I have placed an ear
on the gravid belly of sadness
a heartbeat of melancholy
has spawned in me
eyes

a finger has severed
the surface of the water
the cold ripple
is my only
faith

I cracked open my skull
slid my hand
in its cup
by the raw emptiness
of this touch

I was delivered

 

 

poetry blog

smallness

small poetry

by then
i had crossed
the reason

language was tender
naive and insipid

i was beginning to write
verse
with motion
perspective
a salving madness

i began asking
for the drop
to steal
heaven

a spark in the horizon
a mission
a long-drawn laughter
after the joke of life
had been exposed

it was with all the things
we came to know
that i crossed
the sadness

at last
alone

by the emptiness
of the road.

 

 

 

POEMS

regions of a soul

Areas of a Soul

the distance
of things from my center
together with the dripping self

language rests as a drop
on a fatal slope
or a sound in frozen space

I have hands
but they never touch
anything

I have thoughts
but they never refer
to anything

and while I feel like cancer
growing on the insides
of my own soul;

I have bled beauty
like a suicide of god

there are areas of life
inaccessible and foreign
my flesh is ghostly
my feelings barely perceived

I am like a spark
engulfed in its luminosity
and everything beyond it
staggering darkness

in that incomprehensibility
I move and dying.

 

POEMS

The fallacy of existing

Existence Poetry

something set me         loose

abrupt and cryptic

sailing in a       medium

that infuriates me

                   headway headway

progress is like a precipice

i knew about the          rocks

long before my pessimism

took over

corroding the oars

                        my bores

counted like stars

yawning as naturally as breathing

boat body bodhisattva

drowning in the air

sinking in the blood

world   me                        (mindless)            me          world

nothing is so big and cavernous

so         ingrained

in occult emptiness

within the rising steam

of hot silence

            the anchor

the destiny

simultaneously my hunger

the greasy milk of the sea

fattening the grand course of solitude

scraping against the seabed

slowing the haste

            the waste

a motion brave and stupid

pushing me like a vessel

of filament

            farther              further             away

from the goal of existence:

 

stillness

 

 

 

 

Existential Poems

abandon poetry

Former Poet Eye

I have to get away
from poetry

need to stop
focusing on the
details and the needlework
of perception

need to live the gross
average
collision course life
of the
rest

need to rediscover
minutes
as meaningless
traps

need to make routine
again an instinctive
straightjacket

need to somehow
buy a house
and stock it up
with liquor

need to begin
worrying
about that silly
little race
that goes by
the name
of
happiness.

 

 

nihilism poems

the study of cycles

World History Poetry 

 

I must define this face
this race, the naive momentum
my thoughts the piano’s encroachment
the solitaire’s monastery is my wheel
a soft raised convicting finger my stubborn engine
the long march into centuries and legends
a lost Carolingian desperation;
the Great You that almost Latinized me
in my march, my boundary
I travel with leather and spices
and the abridged and insufficient scrolls
that keep names and wars as causes
this drag of history
a story of everything for no one in particular
lines that remember sleepy pope eyes
puddles of blood and new routes to fame;
I must define this outcome
declare it a migrating art
a necessary war
an early appearance or a rapid descent
the ambiguous year of transformations
a division in which hands fall
deep to the middle of the earth
at the center of time
an indiscriminate movement
in nobody’s control.

.

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

something of night

Stepping-stones on an open fall
my limbs remind me of crying cataracts
the fall is unique
relative to some approaching infinity
all my thoughts are grounded solely on the black stream
an overarching view of decay
some inexplicable love wraps the beauty of my despair
trust? there is an absolute leap of faith
relying less on the Goodness of this destruction
more on the emptiness of my command
whatever remains. An option to abort
a compulsory surrender
that carries this night
as a flavor to life.

Nihilistic Poetry

idealism

World as idea

I’ve had the world
spinning on an idea
yet I never became
Schopenhauer
I never saw it good
or bad or evil
it was simply there
as a mystery
wordless play
and the more I look at it
the more it became
an idle dream. . .

 

 
 

Nihilistic Poetry

barely here

Barely Here Poetry

Most of the time
I cannot write
of what I see
        or think
I feel but I do not seek
subjectively I am indeterminism
within a fatalistic mechanism of the soul
I observe, even participate
in the sacrificed logic
shedding
pale metaphysical tears
because the longer I live
so much more has gathered
about the edge

as more days go by
I begin to recognize
the happy truth
that I was
barely
here at all

Nihilistic Poetry