Remember
when we met
by that corner of a disguise
talking with the stillness
that is common to oil
it was an early October blizzard
that trapped us before
we’ve identified our inertia
locked in that cold
with a bottle of vodka and
letters from Rilke
we drank the last drop
of our nihilism
ready to die there
or live on perpetually
with no sense at all.
Nihilist Poet
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This entry was posted on October 27, 2009 at 6:40 am and is filed under Poetry with tags absurd poetry, ars poetica, contemporary poetry, death, die, disguise, english poetry, eternal life, inertia, live, meaninglessness, modern poem, nihilism, nihilist poet, nihilistic poems, nihilistic poetry, pablo saborio vargas, poem, poems, rilke, Rilke letters, senseless, senseless poetry, vodka. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed
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