october 2018




...just how close are these images of make-believe

to some true, irresistible barbarism


to the chicanery of whose blood is whose

of instincts that flow from screens


the algorithms for rebirth and transfiguration

even the passwords for raw addiction


and yet, how close, how incredibly close it is

this passive ferocity that is boredom


where the avatar for death is finally conquered

and the augmented sunlight casts no shadows


from those flat, miserable primates 

left gaming their way into hell


murder, they insist

is the irresistible essence of our humanity


the howl of the inner steppenwolf

the leitmotiv of a species


dragging its conscience through the scented grass

a transfiguration of flesh into make-believe


a renaissance without passwords

death’s new avatar...






 ...and so, what about these menstruating sirens

outside in the obscene darkness


scratching at the air

panting insults into my face


you, you fake, destitute bastard

if your path is poetry, what then is your goal


speak, if you can, or go your way

learn first to die


and then how to flourish in silence

for the taste of our blood is the taste of inspiration


our bleeds are the beginning of language

sonnets detaching from the uterus


so speak up, if you can, if you dare

or go your way


outside the dark rain dives at the ground

and the rivers roar their approval


the earth has been wounded

stabbed by existence


and with every word I try to speak

my mouth fills with the sirens' blood...






...let there be no doubt, what I crave most

is total war, total enigmatic severity


a universe of incomprehension

that deliberately swells beyond itself


the magnitude of its sins

a war of vicious complexity


a talent so severe it can lean out

and finger-tip-touch


the dissembling schmalz

on the autocrat’s lips


ultimate beauty, however, must become

the means to stun our ignorance


but only if we learn to relish first

the harsh symmetry of the unknown


this insult, this sin

this idiosyncratic war


that changes nothing and no-one

in the way rain, for example


can trickle down a statue’s face

and yet leave the universe untouched...