Nihilistic Poetry

I drag
the whole compass
with its north and whereabouts
to the lyrical center called
           I
I cannot praise beauty
      only the mysterious
I summon the elements
         of my destitute body
I speak to this world only
               – my own
who else stands here
             – a dead poet or a mystic perhaps –
I am the masturbation of my own language
these are no longer words
they become
     the flesh of
 this Being.

Nihilistic Poetry

This entry was posted on November 9, 2009 at 4:53 am and is filed under Poetry with tags beauty, being, contemporary poem, costa rican poet, dead poet, english poem, flesh, I, language, lyrical, masturbation, modern poem, my world, mysterious, mystic, nihilistic poems, nihilistic poetry, philosophy of language, poem on nihilism, poems, Poetry, the poet, to be, words, world. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.