Prophet of the present, humanity’s future-
Less destiny, weep my words knowing no future.
Crying in space’s cavern, mourning musically,
Drown in tears the false prophesied child of future.
Stupid consumer-man, late post-modern wastour,
You fail to forget your by killing our future
When what is lovelier, fuller than desire
Knowing itself as always already future?
The drunken beauty of dawn: imagination
Returning from the science fiction of future.
Ontology of boredom: emptiness being
Unable to enter the presence of future.
Embryo-zombie, never born already dead,
Nicola feels a joy flying beyond future.
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2 comments:
The ghazal is one of my favorite poetic forms, Nicola; these are all wonderful. I especially love "the drunken beauty of dawn."
If you ever have a chance, check out the poet Spencer Reese. He has a thin and beautiful book, "The Clerk's Tale," in which he plays around with the ghazal quite a bit. "Ghazals for Spring" is simply mind-blowing. "The Clerk's Tale," which references Chaucer, of course, but is set in a Brooks Brothers in a mall in Florida, is simply mind-blowing.
beauty of dawn: imagination = the blue moment.
I'll always associate late nights with Westernco donuts.
Aloha,
Daniel
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