Category Archives: Poetry


The weight of words thus impassed
on streams of sounds made him aware
of all the empty strings that lie
on a full and surely scriptable web.
Then spiders roam between the flying
lines, catching now and then
flies that thought not well enough
that they perhaps are not the most
important creatures in the air.
Hence they die, with tasteful flair.


downward rumours

downward rumours

creaking cracking shrieking
every beating
of man of wife of tv
becomes ground in the tv series
thats now but noise
of murdering sirens

ive got the impression
of it on
every scale
major minor diminished
a third inversion, too
revolting against its roots.
and drumming

saturnal trans–
position yet
on the airless wings
of an instrument
of a creation
reproduced and reproducing

Pressing on the earlobe, insistently
pressures the mind a ghastly fantasy.
emptys the neighbourhood
while neighbouring thoughts destruct the mood.

Or else, I’ve done mischievous deeds

Or else, I’ve done mischievous deeds
planting but sorrow, harvesting seeds
unripe, that others had interred.
The dissolution of souls deferred
my strikes, mirrored them. I fell.

Pluck a petal, pick your passion.
I take no pleasure in tiring my head,
stirring, recurring to stratagems
of deviant kind.
Lands of gems,
single islets producing but doublets.

It’s getting harder and harder,
ardour’s betraying all,
or else, I’m doing mischievous things.

Still feeling, feeling still, stings
– I feel the pain draining through

Shall I compare you to a summer’s day,
you should, but I need to go away
too soon to listen, too far back to stay,
the only thing I want to live for is today.

Each of them looks alike
not a critique of pure dishonesty
but I attempt to see whom I’d like
to see.
Scraping leaves – hello
I say. Is it you?
Tourists? I’ve been one
back in the day,
when beer was cheaper than food. And now
I travel around the house, tomorrow
I’ll be sitting in a better place.

Hunger doesn’t leave me,
it makes me write, and then
it scares me with dyslexia.

Alas, I want to eat, yet I don’t,
I’m no use fat nor skinny. The only want
of me is me.

Thersites was my friend, the best,
he gave me a helmet with a crest,
“Put it on and walk around”
he said, “falling to the ground
you’ll see the chicks.”
I’m done with this,
to hear the switches, to hear the mis-
sing of a name.

O, give me fame.

the generation that lost

the generation that lost

the classics are long past
erudite talking too
jumps in the primordial soup
and their embellished unadorned
outcomes failed.
then came a new way of fighting
of beating lines of pox
piles of rocks
open roads in enclosed streets
elites of masters
without degree.
all is past
they all lost their vibe
the last of which
against present vibrations.
now facts not feelings
post facts not facts
feelings and nothing more
Lenore and other angels
remember without thinking
or think to think of deeds.
displaced realities
a sour land loved
rejected. objected
voices from every corner
each a wanderer.
all these
a lost generation
with or without nation
breaking grounds anew
already old marked
by earthworms
coming out of the ground
and retreating with
contaminated nutrients.

A Breath From the North

A man and a man in a room with a name unknown.
Some people call it a house of terror, some
they say it’s a place of fun, of drug and liquor,
of smoke and needle. Then he’s come, alone,
from far away to feel the frenzy. – What?
– Away! Away!
– May I help you, sir?
He asked while opening the door – he had no right
to ask, the Smurfs this time were close to get him.
– I thought there was a bar, here around.
Dee doo dee doo dee doo dee doo duh
– There’s none. Now come. You’re mine. – he shut the door.

– Come out! – We know you’re there! – Show yourself!
– I do not wish to come.
– I don’t wish to come!
– Come out! – We know you’re there! – Free him!

Unharmed a man and a man from a room unknown
came out. Unknown what might have happened inside.
The side of right, the side of wrong, unknown
to all involved.

The situation resolved
in nothing still, still in nothingness,
uneducated paths of fullness.

Imago Nationis

A format mistake
opens to etymologies new and false.
This is no matter of State,
the state of things being matter,
peoples and nations.
Combinations of figures,
figuratively configured
in deeper imaginations.
Be it Mont Blanc, Plato’s cave,
a haunted house or an armchair,
these lines project shadows, thin air,
cautious delineations of uncomplete projects.
Images on images, not yet imagined,
not fully consciously integrated,
form not forms, not shapes, but lines,
thoroughly forming nations.


a word that reekly strikes admits no nay
it touches every bundle in the wood
the cortex of life the core text of man
coral is far more red than her lips’ red
it vexes t’wards th’aporia block in stock

contiguous entities share no unity
but that exposed forbidden liaison
of form reformed from frames unfreed
unmasking the danger betwixt the metaphor
which seems the only figure on the ground
elevating but for saliences but for silences
of an underscored aphasia

something missing
quoth the peremptory adventurer!
whom did you see did you enjoy whom?
what is missing now what is lacking
in the time you think you need a blast

come again my gentle folk sing
about the myths in ancient greece
I forgot I forgot forgotten
lines of black cars darkened men
aligned by them light and vanished by time
forgot I, I, I guess I
forgot also procedural understandings
of how this alienated language works

never have I ever understood
never have I ever truly dreamed
to understand or even thought of mastering
my thought

belief drags me always on
certainty that all these maddened bloody corpses
unbodied by coarse actions engendered now
on virgin sheets on feeble stains on
and away, on on the lawn of today