SurrenderA Poem by R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)A poem about love. Romantic and familial. Found and lost. Some hate and loss; that comes with love. Handling the different subjects, and the idea of surrender. Really, really long. But worth reading.
Dreams For The Damned
(Under the tarnished iron of a lustreless sun) (Still as a willow) (Dull and bent and heaven sent) (In winter’s scintillation, rusted deterioration carved from argents) (Sequestered effigies [of a spent sea’s upending frenzy; tendrilled envy]) <[(Among disorderly forests in the primordial foliage, the spores of tomorrow)]> <[(Floral glee of coral reefs core beliefs unborn debris)]> <[(Meteoric metamorphosis coursing through orchards’ June illuminating petunias)]> [(Marred by the moons of roosting nucleus oozing through ludicrous music doomed in unison)] [(In the crowded room of unity blooming ambiguity the brutal fruit of entombing uvulas)] (Like) Graphite; (knifelike) [(Droplets of esophagus; lopsided kaleidoscopes, briar horizons, bonfires of barbed-wire)] [(Or the clash of sparks when two swords meet)] [(On a battlefield that smiles, blood dripping down its chin, with its endless army rotting teeth;)] [(Metal battering metal; clattering cataclysm; if you could only mouth the words they scream)] [(In this way; the same way; swords are born)] [(Smashing themselves, hammering themselves into form; shape, sharper than tongue)] [(Escarpments; the harp of the young)] <[(Wriggling obsidian figurines swinging from ring fingers stygian)]> <[(With the sprigging monarchism viridian linen of lindens unkindled)]> <[(Imprisoned in the crimson rhythm of the figs of amygdala)]> [(Trimming the withering Yggdrasil)] [(Pillaging vermillion trilling from the billowing pavilions of swivelling guillotines)] (The liturgy of hurricanes among the bowers of hourglasses rasping pastures of massive asters) (Bristles that swivel within the schism of fizzing bougainvillea) (Scythes of moonlight white) (Like pixies of Nyx crystalline) Ripe with the cypresses of ichor Deciphering the rifle of lightning (The arboretum of weaving trees like fiends in the fields of phoenix eclipse) (These fingers wrap around my neck like a rosary of frozen oceans) (Comatose ozone) (Like a tired empire black in the lilac emptiness) (A lunar abyss like an intestinal precipice in the festival of bethel’s woes) (Carnivalesque wretches of ancestral pestilence) (Vessels festering in the effigies of crescents wreath in the dim incandescent sleep) Branches of amber (lengthening) chrysanthemum in lanterns of hippocampus The wind as it twirls your words into frenzy Like the batons of a marching band Crossing the bangled wrist of ellipsis The cinders of bonfire echoing off the moon Chanting amaranths of caverns like labyrinths in the split edge of a snowflake It’s strangely beautiful; Seeing the world pass you by At light speed weeding the speleothem Of your shackled bifactor of a mind Winding into dial tone In the homage to your chromosomes In the bottomless chronological choreography Time winding its hands around your throat Like crucifix of fuchsia (Under runes of pseudonyms written in the ichor of hieroglyphs mithril as the sigil of a willow) [(Rorschach’s gilded by lilac tides unwinding formaldehyde wings of ambrosial symphonia)] Composing and conducting all at once Listening to the christening of the abyss again Blossoming in the phosphorus nocturne I recount my history Of [these many] [Many, many, many, many] Irredeemable dreams [This cemetery of mine] [Opens up] Like a flower [Its fingers, fitting] In my hand <[(My brain does not register its beauty)]> <[(So easily)]> [I pick the petals off] <[(The wings off as if it were a horsefly)]> <[(As if it were a fallen angel)]> [Before the setting sun] <[(As it closes its leaden eyes)]> [The dust of an atomic bomb settling, rattling in my ears] [Listen] <[(Closely to it)]> [And hear Nothing] [Hear stillness] [The crisp morning air] <[(The way it whispers sweetly, sweet nothings to the waves of oceans and the curl of forests)]> <[(My fingers trace and make out the shape of three figures stygian)]> <[(All haunted by the silence of one’s heartbeat)]> <[(A village of capillaries in a sigil’s tree)]> <[(Like a ghetto’s archipelago, comatose in the snow’s ambrosia)]> <[(Composing vagrants anchored in the pancreas, the road of magnum opus)]> <[(With loathsome posies interwoven groves undertow in soma)]> <[(Carvings of yarn like harlequin)]> <[(Sobbing for solace, unison, see)]> <[(For a lifetime out there, in the cold of winter, and the blistering summer heat)]> <[(Missing bullets and finding happiness, discarding despair; letting go, like a lost balloon)]> <[(We are children of children of children)]> <[(We do not know any better)]> <[(With some monster waiting)]> [(Somewhere around the corner)] <[(Tomorrow looms, a cruel parent, but a great teacher)]> <[(I missed the heart of it all)]> <[(And empaled myself on the rocky shores of argent lungs, the crashing beaches)]> <[(Cast in the reaches of bleached hair)]> <[(I missed the orderly madness of it, singing from closed mouths)]> <[(So pursed you could hear the shape of the words on their lips like clay)]> <[(The coldness of the summer sun with its blue skinned forest of clouds like satin balaclavas)]> The warmth of winter with its cottontails white, and the beige dripping with the desires of men <[(The fantasies of life)]> <[(Breathing green into the greyness and each parched crevice)]> <[(The ground becomes moist with the whispers of the ages, the disease of the past; pageless)]> <[(Raising the deadmen from their trees; hemlock mockingbirds dismembering the breeze)]> <[(Slumbering in the slums of umbrage)]> <[(The armies of a carnival)]> <[(The opal painted black)]> <[(My heart vorpal, fissured, cracked)]> <[(Is better mine alone)]> <[(Although, maybe)]> <[(Severed, turned to stone)]> <[(The world becomes me)]> <[(And so I become the world)]> <[(Look upon me)]> <[(In anemoia)]> A child once stood between the bars of this mind, caught between the frayed edge of a sentence <[(Writing love letters without knowing the words, a life’s sentence lengthens into view)]> <[(Singing songs with no lyrics)]> <[(Spinning tongs as I hear it)]> Chastised for his curiosity, for his negligence <[(He never found a way out)]> <[(Did he die out there, alone?)]> <[(Did I die with him?)]> <[(Fit like a jagged word, jigsaw piece, between these rusted metal teeth?)]> <[(The labyrinth of his face, maybe, lines drawn like creases of silk wilting into blank paper?)]> <[(Maps of a castaway like alabaster fractals in the ecclesiastical mish-mashing apathy)]> <[(The jaws of life)]> [Like the batons of a marching band] [Before the setting sun] [Waging war in stillness] <[(Like taking a bite out of an apple)]> <[(A swallow in a storm, slave to the wind)]> <[(Never able to quite catch what was cupped between his clasped palms)]> <[(Smoldering butterfly journeying down the length of a paperback’s spine)]> <[(Always smoldering)]> <[(Never quite able to make out his mirror image in their eyes)]> <[(Like the so many murals of people between two mirrors, the others out there)]> <[(Seeing the image bent out of proportion, a billion mimicking faces of the same depth)]> <[(The exact same shade of Nothing, I am)]> <[(Lost in what they found)]> [I ask you;] [Are you the only one] [The only lost child] [That (n)ever dared learn to dream?] <[(And if you choose to bury yours; the children in your eyes)]> <[(Crushed like a flower underfoot; dreamless)]> <[(Then what does that make me?)]> <[(Am I the only one)]> <[(That still holds onto the echoes of the lost, and their dismal symphonies?)]> <[In its unravelling patterns scattered around the block, written in subways, street signs)]. <[(The tokens of their penniless bliss like streaks of silver in their hair; innocent and bleak)]> <[(The remnants scattered across the room, strewn like terracotta pots of smashed alabaster)]> <[(The mementos of some world that will never come again; come to be revolving in my eyes)]> <[(They sing to the tributaries of tomorrow; yesterday)]> <[(Their beauty)]> [That beauty] [It falls on deaf ears] [Because all I remember] [Is gone] <[(French kissing the tip of your tongue in reverberating silence; anticipating familiarity)]> <[(It’s all yours)]> <[(Everything you’ve lost)] <[(In a frame atop my dresser)]> Everything you’ve ever loved Memento mori <[(Did you ever find your way home)]> <[(To a place you never lived in, screaming in your ears; softly?)]> [Come see the end for yourself] [It’s just the beginning] <[(Winding into wire frame)]> [(Brutalized horizons like kites of lightning’s ichor writing itself on the shelf of an open mouth)] <[(Nothing waits for you in its endless repetition, its wretched reflection pencilled in my skin)]> <[(Bottomless homonyms in the gin of equilibrium sigils chiselled in the rivers of wind)]> (Guitars of scimitars scarred with the armadas of solitude feuding over each ludicrous nucleus) <[(You know you lost me, you know you lost me, right?)]> <[(Lost in the silence of decades)]> <[(Waiting for you, waiting for me)]> (Hiding behind the crack of a doorframe’s page lacquered across my pale face like a namesake) <[(Wide-eyed; stories high across divides in spiralling miles of sunrise)]> <[(Like white lines dyeing on a fresh page)]> [(The bourbon slurring into serpentine phoenixes in a paraplegic helix rinsed in photosynthesis)] <[(Vermillion tranquility)]> <[(Obscuring hurricanes)]> <[(Billowing bougainvillea basilicas)]> <[(Prickly sycamores)]> <[(Blithering riverbeds)]> <[(Inescapable maples)]> <[(Recoiling magnolias)]> <[(Ivory {vineyards/wineries})]> <[(Magenta penitentiaries)]> <[(Warping orchards)]> <[(Phantasmagorical orchids)]> <[(Delving in elegant parhelion)]> <[(The rustling gusts of percussion erupting from my mouth in lip-synced silence,)]> <[(Smiling in static)]> <[(Are you the only one (of us) who never dreamed?)]> <[(Are you the only one of us, who never lived?)]> <[(Among these dying memories)]> <[(The glue that holds your mind together?)]> <[(Coaxed into my skin like the blur of polished nails and budding sycamores awaiting you?)]> <[(Letting in the hot sun and the empty of the clouds unmoving)]> <[(Among that which can not be contained in anything but one word)]> <[(I am waiting for you)]> To gaze into one another's eyes is truly the most intimate form of human contact Let this mirror of mine, face the mirror of yours in splendorous uncontaminated solid sterling Now and forever To gaze into another’s eyes is to dive in a dilated pupil, to drive back the light from the darkness How else do you intend to touch the abyss? To see behind the watching divide And its dull heavens of heaving lungs, the thumping of surrender, like the branches of a tree In the single file skies I find the hollow sun appalling Even with its magnificent ballrooms Ovulating columns, cauldrons of andromeda pollening laundered mongering dahlias inaudible [The] (Silence speaks volumes) Calling (disembodied) through follicles of unbottling (stamens of drawling) solitude <[(Remember, Remember?)]> <[(Remember me. Remember me.)]> <[(Live in nightmares trapped within the confines of your own mind like I did, each eyelid)]> <[(Dilated)]> <[(Or I will never forget)]> Find you, from behind doors unhinged like me For the man upstairs is waiting For you to feel my words <[(Like you never heard)]> But I did In endless splendour, all surrenders <[(To the endlessness cysts of the riffing abyss, mother Nyx)]> <[(Cracking smiles like broken bottles against the teeth of the concrete)]> <[(Like glass asters bathed in Rorschach’s like a saxophone of daffodils)]> {<[(Surrendering the past for the future)]>} {<[(I hate those who are weaker than the strong; yet act stronger than the weak)]>} {<[(Their actions are frivolous, pointless, immaterial, without momentum)]>} {<[(And to know this will conquer me; will kill me; eventually)]>} The noise; it reeks of silence With static in my ears I hear, I feel, nothing “But who cares? The show is already over” “Remember? Remember…” I never left I’m still here Waiting for the sun to fall out of its socketed sky [Like a sapphire eye] Waiting; for something better; that came and went; that will never be again The final curtain of rope To hang like drapes, ingrained, crocheted, [To dry in the thick of summer; or the pull of a destitute winter] Over a picture-perfect memory Outside this frost licked window in the courtyard of a photograph Words spit from the mouth of a river; Roars out white-hot anger; (split ends) in its cardiovascular rapids The (fat/split) lip of the horizon Withstanding and winning tomorrow With the wings of a horsefly I smile My smile is my only memento Mocking their faces Hating them Their faces, their love, their pain, their ecstasy Their memories, always reminding me of the Eden of my childhood, some lost fantasy Plastered like a piece of the puzzle On the Rorschach, the labyrinth Of my face Put back together with every crumbling brick (of devastation) [Torn into butterflies] Picked [fresh] from the rubble of paradise like a scab <[(As much as I want to)]> <[(Can’t take that away)]> <[(From them. From me.)]> They never left They’re still (t)here I do not forget How could I? I still smile Filling the tree’s hollow with new life Under setting sun A filing cabinet in a lost library of seconds, minutes, hours, years; tunnelling in my mind There is nothing else But this I will not forget I will not surrender Until there is nowhere left to run Home is so far away I may never reach it But I must try This corn-maze smile no longer fits me As much, as it fit them Smiling at me As if they didn’t already know (better) They live within the flat light of a two-dimensional viewpoint Lest I give them new names, not unlike the ones that I cannot recall As if I can see it in their eyes I still haven’t paved over the faded colours in red, blue, yellow How could I not? I came to paint (over) the music I can feel it thickening; dripping from my ears (in sigil’s acrylics) Over the cracks in the sidewalk Mouths plugged with clay (Shape nothing) <[(But memories)]> {A thousandfold} {In the sheet music of death} {Deforming morning} {Like (we/I) did, once}
Light (My Little Dark Age)
When we’re gone; Everything will mean nothing Blind to the sunshine But look [one last time in your eyes at] what we’ve left behind; Nothing will remain; In place of something; Does that mean something? Like a hurricane of ravens; Maidens of misshapen scathing plains Wickers in the ichor of a misshapen oasis; Candles floating over rivers swimming by kindled lindens In ebbing white of midnight’s scythe In the zebra stripped web of Armageddon’s thread In the breath of a crescent; In the breasts of sepulchre A stream of neon lights midflight cyphers In the chaos of nocturne Drinking and limping in photosynthesis I am simply a man I cannot see in the dark (Flickering conifers of viscera) (Depicting themselves) (With the mithril valves of yellow velvet cherries and wisterias) (Dim equilibrium over the brim) (I light the lantern) (And cast a shadow not unlike a die) (And start the climb of silence) (On my many sides) (On my many faces) (One prison within the scintillation) (Drunk prisms defibrillating homo-sapient) (Like a candelabra of mandalas) (I blow out the candle) (And cover, smother, and drink myself dry) (In its smoke) (I see a million forgotten colours) (With my burning page) (I am) (The light before the end) (The tunnel fears me) (I lie in wait) (With dull brilliance) (Concentrated elation precipitated maelstroms under the precipice of Nephilims’ dim oblivion) (Aglow with my oceans of [prose; posies and crows in] comatose motionlessness) (Shapeless [matrix of] oasis among [consecrated] acres of [emancipated] wraith lands) (The shadow stretches its back [over a chandelier of piers mirroring the veneers of empyrean]) [(Over teal murals of the ethereal)] (Before sitting in the corner of my cornea) (And watching over blindness) (In somber boredom, [in amber tones and shambling tomes]) (Before the corridors of morning) (Spores of chlorophyll spilling out from the drought of archipelagos) (In the bedlam of my head) (Resonating dishevelled in the meadows’ brevity) (Revelling in the malevolent heavens) (Of dreadnought Cocytus) (Blossoming phosphorus in coffins of lost prophesies offering) (From the tossing turning colossus burning of the flickering lithium lick of wickerman Icarus) (Illuminating;) (The ruins of fluid Jupitar’s of fuchsia’s lucid nucleus) (Embroidered in a coinflip) (The glint of an instrument) (The shrine of kaleidoscopes) (Rinsed from the fins of an incubus in eternally printed firmament) (Like gelatinous shrapnel gasping for air) (Like clarinets)
Walk
The last prideful step In an unfathomable marathon; Drawn out as if a sketch Upon the cotton plumage Of winter morning; The white void a stretching cat Like glass with a touch of grey; Cottages speaking volumes Of cobblestone near the Champagne bay of ukuleles I climb the nearest hillside And then pretend it is a mountain Looking down on the remains of old villages Where the pilgrimage of breath Has not graced these cold hands (banded around my waist, and shaking) And the rust of fireplaces Creates a cloud of smoke Like pillowing scarves Or sheets of quilted covers The colour of ink, or pencil lead Leaving indents on the page
Embroidered Empyrean Lotus
(Coffins of phosphorus metropolis hawks of nocturne blurting out vertebrae) Tangible fractals in paths of shackled vernacular Aspens and picturesque espers Conjuring phenomenons Cogs of espionage in the vibrato of staccato Jogging the memory of a cemetery In its precarious ferris wheel Under each heel a feeling In the speleothem of evanescence Incandescent in a blender of memorabilia Peeling away in the everglades of mayhem spades Of Salem’s polymerization in the sonography The polymer’s of synagogue mahogany Of thralls of mandalas hollow with the amber branches of lanterns and hippocampus Amphitheaters of cedars in the poplars of Cocytus Knotting the bottomless breeze with the weavings of elysian seams In the meter of Eden’s remedied reeds Of mausoleums of tweed revealing themselves In the swell of the summer sun under tunnels of tundras Unstrung penumbras like thunderous rum And its stumbling rungs summits still young Hummingbirds stung with the rumbling drums In a trance of chrysanthemums With a hundred handed amethyst; As the pines kaleidoscope into opal focal points In the ointment of a painted face With its ancient nomenclature thrones of oasis Wrinkles of idiosyncrasies Lace emancipated in elation’s stations In grey lakes and wafers of slate roasting in the slums and the ghetto’s sun Parhelion umbrellas in the collage of mandalas Meadows of pelican melodies that bleed weaving in the creases of an efflorescent crescent In the regal dodecahedrons keyboards of rigour mortis orbiting meteoric In the time scheme of a dreams baffling raffles of scaffolding Molding into golden primordial Oranges of floral coral reefs of leaves Greener than the grasses of asters and asphodel In the mellow asphalt drought doubtlessly mouthing to me With sentenceless seeds Like an empress of weeds Grieving for the scores of sycamores forevermore In the origami of a drawling tsunami of tapestries wrapped in the grafted taffeta Mashing together in the brevity of Armageddon’s sleeve Which like letters (they send like the Everest’s men) … Leave in the scream of mausoleums And the basilicas of willing guillotines trilling willows Stream from the cream of a typewriters’ machine; There is no such thing permanence; Let it birth itself again from the womb that shed its skin for heart Those who are unique shouldn’t be met with such hostility There is I And you Things die and are reborn Death lives among heartbeats; among flowers; among those who live completely I don’t want to look back For I am The past living, the shackled prison, alabaster crimson linens that ripple in the grip of the sun And the future dyed in brilliance, in neon lights, shadow, in false messiahs, and emotionless gods Can (either out grow me, wither, die or) Go f**k itself For I am the foundation crushed underfoot by mountains For when you finally know what that means What it means To hit rock bottom Planting the seeds of its own destruction This garden of my bones that welcomes you Is plenty There is no such thing as permanence There is no need But we carry on As the past passes by beyond its expiry date Spilt milk As the present arrives perpetually on this doorstep in whispered anticipation In the choir, the empty pews, the dilapidated farm, arms of gates not leading to heaven; or earth But for now Let’s watch the world burn its tongue on the sunrise (together, forever) (I won’t let anyone stand in front of me) (Let nothing stand in the way) (Let nothing stand behind me in my wake) (Of stimulation) (Vibrating in your chest) (Before the thunder) (Of rumbling discovery) (Before the core of aurora borealis) (Do you hear me flutter like a butterfly?) (Stuttering colour smothered hummingbird) (Tomorrow is written on my wings) (You only need read my eyes with yours) (A staple gun) (With a paperclip) (I cut my fingers) (On these keys) (And press these bruises, these fingertips) (Into my eyes) (Into the [eyes of the] sun [spun over with the umbrage of a thousand oaken candles, withered]) [(I see you)] ([No differently than] (Like) A crushed cigarette)
Colourful Decay
[(In a hull of colourlessness waters flooding over covers)] [(In polymers throttling cholera mandala)] [(Halogens in the genesis of the heavens)] [(I sit etched in memories)] [(Dismembering assembly of interstellar melodies)] [(From the kettle of a flower petal;)] [(A sun not settled in the nest of celestial bodies cauterizing xylophones in this isle’s home)] [(Calling from the solitary marionettes)] [(Of swept bethels invested in the crescents)] [(The orchestral pestle of a molested precipice of frescoed effigies)] [(As they bend like the seven seas)] [(In a malevolent breeze)] [(Rivers of weeds and mosquitos)] [(Whittling stygian obsidian in the rhythm of the setting sun)] [(I trapeze through reeding fever dreams)] [(That I weave through blue jeans of Kahlua cream, fluidly)] [(Cumulus abyss in the misty crystalline of lucid roofs of Jupitar)] [(Tooth and nail;)] [(A sailboat’s ale of railroad tempo)] [(Of creaking steeples weeping through Greek Fire lilac among a thousand mouthless islands)] [(Perspiring in Gaia’s wireframe of iris named in violet sage)] [(Calling the names in binary,)] [(Sapphire skies of rhinestone supernovas)] [(The chamber and sway of each bending pendulum upending momentum of maleficent edifice)] [(Stretching past the wreckage of perception)] [(Nephilim of dim stars like scimitars in the grimoires of harlequin shimming)] [(Within the skimming scintillation of elation)] [(Grapes like beads of sweat tethered in the nether tenements)] [(High on the ether pines and vines kaleidoscope of serpentine ire)] [(Barbed wire on the bonfire horizon)] [(Rewiring the silence of a firefly vibrant)] [(In aisles of dahlia’s unravelling medallions)] [(In a vile hymn’s violin)] [(Crying out from the mouth of a bonsai sprout)] [(Shouting the elegies of parhelion velvety)] [(Comets that vomit the frothing cloth of softness in an offerings’ sarcophagus of andromeda)] [(Bottomless cauldrons of melding cellos)] [(Swelling in the petals of metallurgy beneath the cracked pot of sky miles wide with irises)] [(Carving and marbling stardust harvester starlings of saffron yards of caramelized mantras)] [(That saunter decomposition through infinite vistas under floundering fauna)] [(Discombobulated choreography of the knotted obelisk of crystalline glyphs)] [(Written in the stars)] [(Carving gargoyles marred by cinnabar)] [(In barred foliage coiling around the valleys of callous Valkyries)] [(With their pomegranates of mangled hippocampus)] [(Wreckage and rust amidst the fluster)] [(Crushing with its percussion)] [(The sun coming down into his resting place)] [(Alone among the jungle of stars)] [(Amber with the champagne of a hurricane shapeless like a wraith of ancient dilapidation)] [(Racing through the naked aether of a caped oasis)] [(In its image of squiggly amygdala in the ebony nebulas of gauze)] [(Blossoming caustically with the mellowing yellows pastel of evangelion parhelion)] [(And the reddening ebonies of serenities’)] [(Endless heavens shedding their feathers of Armageddon)] [(Drunk on the liquor of Icarus)]
Broken String
(Hemlock mockingbirds) [interlocking provocative walking through city blocks of offerings)] [(Docking in the washed-up Cocytus)] (In the lost outcropping of docile brothels locked in the fields of knocking clockwork) [(Reverberating hurricanes marmalade of sable tornado in braided bouquets of Himalayans)] [(In the conclave vertebrae of clay mosaics)] [(Satchel of backbone’s dip below chromosomes; axel and soma, baskets of clovers)] (Among temples of tendrils in tempo’s entrails;) (Trails of nightingales with their windmill of twin tails) (Railroads of grey cloves of psychotropic nocturne of glossy phosphorus rusting in the lustre) I carve my destiny in the blasphemy of an ash tree Near a cabin at the end of a fabric avenue in the jazz of a labyrinth Blooming from the nucleus of mute sutra’s of mucus lucid Whittling away at the vase of life And the budding nebulas Why do I ask myself these questions of vice in midnight’s hour like a sigil’s flower? In the poison of a coinflip, an efflorescent crescent, ripples serendipitous in its mithril bliss Melancholic mausoleums following collages of bottomless monoliths in the Columns of polyphonic philharmonic harmonies tarnished yarn of grimoires Bonding in harbours of comets’ augur Augmenting centuries in glens of penitentiaries In the sediment of cemeteries that blare with wisteria Weaving dreams seamlessly inebriated sleeves of chameleons in the regaled eagle cathedrals In Sheol’s heel bipedal wheelbarrows of ephemeral murals bound in balaclava’s satellite Lapis lazulite lapping against the grains of a potent ocean among scattered banners of sand Whittling billowing soliloquy down into the valves unravelling In smoky orchids mortar in the incorporeal yell of mellowed parhelion Fumbling homunculus stumbling through stubble under the brush of sunrise’s clutch Like porcelain oozing kintsugi through the canal of valleys Fuming cumulus in ludicrous drift in Sanskrit proliferating creationism Luminous innumerate bliss driven by the tip of a finger’s flick Whistling through the chrysalis of nickel ichor crippling Odysseus Of the moon’s eclipse; gouging out the eye of God; a hollow crater of polymerization Sockets of the apocalypse grip the rivulets of lithium from the amber lips of gypsies’ pits Glyphs of metamorphosis whisper their histories to the common breeze of Elysium Engulfing penultimate butterflies that bide their time in lilac spiral Riding chimera into islands of hyacinth admiring the finite horizon I twang the hangmen of cadaverous avarice Like they’re lines of poetry, frayed, framed, coming apart at the seams That jangle like windchimes among the violets Cats cradle and barcode labels that cipher the life from the Sable eyed kaleidoscope of revival’s pyres of spiderwebbed ledges From the edge of pledging bound upending heavens Winding down Without a sound Broken strings in a smashed guitar Sing to me Cracks in the wall form rays of light in the dark cell of my mind, my pale halo Like an apple in my hand, redder than the harvest moon, I plant myself in gardens green And I echo them in the mountains of my soul And the valleys of my arms And the crawlspace of my heart Where there is but the rumble of a submerged hurricane Somewhere outside the padded room of pseudonyms shivering in the slivers of stygian figurines Blooming luminescent The cellar of parhelion beneath the creeping gelatinous shadows of amber chrysanthemums In the highwires of vinyl stretched fibres nylon pawns Diving into the climbing horizons’ jaunt through conquered few From the palpable into the unknowable From the bright morning sky Into the unknown dankness in dull drought of what was once watercolour rains Now Nothing but a grey harbour on the tarnished edge of a black sea underneath a white noise sky Drowning in the balance, inkblots and paper Spiralling back into the slack-jawed tsunami of silence At home in the mud of somersaulted palpations inflating these havenless vases’ nameless oasis Painted clay in masonry’s basins of indented to the plenty’s rudimentary emptiness Born of the cell of my mind; freedom Prisoner to the whims that I live by To rules that I could have broken The strings I refused to pluck Have strengthened me The gallows that I hang my linen and laundry on In this neck of the woods In which these thousand trees sit in wait like a jagged throne Which is the one that holds my crown? Resting in my precipice Hanging in a field of swords like exploring corneas adorning roses in symposiums That furl over the cowl Of my furrowed brow I have the guts of a percussionist, the words of a hurricane, the eyes of a blind man The hands of a child Unrolling the clay effigy that is me Somewhere beneath the dry leaves Which hides my palpitating, reverberating heart Beating after beating I hammer myself Into the shape I want to be Into the shape Of my will And shatter tomorrow into a million dreams unbreakable Bonded into union, clarity, togetherness With my tools of creation With my mask of destruction With my jaunt through monsters of constellations With my endless pride Continuing into the rings of infinity’s swing As the pendulum Sings Tokens of broken strings This eventually thing As the nebula’s cling With their tenebrous wings In ebony’s setting sun Spun bewonderment from the glades that palisade in the ribcage plains of eons Chained in a graveyard’s séance This scarecrow has never met a bird who could quite fly like him
What is Warmth, But Not The Fire?
Phantoms of amber Bandersnatch Entangled in the jagged glow of pandemonium The jaws of terracotta baubles of sunlight Ripe like a choir of ichor Picked from the drifting vines of birch Among hearths of turpentine and iron Plucking honeysuckle in the highwire plumage Luminous hallucinogens of a bruised universe Shoestring veins of deranged sages In a maelstrom of azaleas Like plump grapes and beads that hang like beacons or dodecahedrons in the bohemian legions Of Demeter and Prometheus Shining in their spiralling vinyl vineyards that twirl whirlwinds Terpsichorean ether onomatopoeia And spearing murals with the tips of their ellipsis As cedar reeds of dodecahedrons bleed through the fluid cumulus Elysian mausoleums high in the sky of over fields Of chameleon colour swathing itself over land Paint dripping down from the sky into the brush below, the dribble and spittle of heartbeat Dancing across the canvas in a splash of lapis lazuli Reeling in stars from the armoires Of a dust covered page; Thrush in the luscious percussion Parting into darkness darting around galleys and alleyways In the vestige of lactescent crescents of rage Laid bare like the stare of a marionette Dolls made of polymers crawling out From underneath the bed of leaves Derelict perfection shedding the ventricles Of pestilential embryos through the jubilation Of seven archipelagoes Embroidered in the ghettos of parhelion In floral orbiting morsels of coral Forming oars in the mortal moors of boreal chlorophyll Torrents’ phantasmagoria like porcelain metamorphosis Coursing through orchards like a vortex In the kites of lightning strikes cyphering the cypress trees In the sculpting of Kalpa and the columns Mausoleums bound by palpating mantras Of Viking’s vilified crying out To the unbridled geysers of bonfire skylines On the caramelized lines of hyacinth A book binding’s divide Climbing horizons writhing in the spiral of sun’s iris Strung together tethered Dilated with the halos of a maelstrom’s veil Hanging over the bride called sunrise With all her stencilled tendrils ventricles and entrails Like hanging bangles; a halo of azaleas Like centennial emperors born to the slender centuries of penitentiaries Of bending wendigos in the slender breeze After the Armageddon that they don’t remember Compendiums of heaven’s hallucinogenic clementines Crying out in dialects dressed in crescents The severed rhymes’ hymen in Serengeti sublime lilac Polymerizing the brine of wildfire bibles In the silos of forgotten isles miles apart in violent hyacinths In the arching scarfs Marred in the uncharted march of one’s unstarting heart Departing from the Tartarus of cartilage In the bark of kaleidoscope of poplar trees Martyrs in the marmalade glazes of a fables’ hurricane Cain and Abel in a bloodstained rainbow Fight under the sunburned umbrage Across the docks of a phosphorus colossus Where man is but a speck on the trek of spiralled skies Blossoming among the weeds like delirious spirits Ethereal spears raised like a newborn baby among high-rises In jagged asylum winding into the chimera of a bonfire Nihilism intertwining briars into geysers of iron fibres Scribes of nylon vying for the revival Like the child of kaleidoscopes, A scribe’s tidal-wave shaving away the glades at bay, dismay In the equation of dismantling chrysanthemums and the anthers of their bantering jasmine Laced in the basin of creation’s lacquered propagation Meshes in the hecatomb of a clandestine precipice outstretched Nephilim’s bethel nectarines sifting through the grains of sand in Avalon Sonata for the knotted fathers of comets Like harvester’s obelisks Disembodied fists in the hands of banisters of amaranths In the foggy transmogrified idols of God’s recital Of channels like pianos and flowering talisman in galleries of shallow leaves Bathed and wrapped in taffeta Castaways collapsing in the mazes of a cat’s cradle, Bipedal cathedrals that stream through a zoo of cumulus In fuchsia blooming in cumin And rejuvenation patiently awaiting the bent nail A tornado scratching against the tide of vinyl Rosemary wisterias bearing the varicose fruits of their tearing roots Sprouting and spreading from the hedges of surrender Bending into some semblance of September’s memory Dismembering the cemetery of everything I know In the leaves of gold before the snow Webbing their way in the shape of everglades Green mausoleums for the next season And its bulbous columns of white scythes, wickers’ lithium Sprites like knives of undeciphered fibres Unwinding the bookbinding into islands To hide in under umbrage; horizon, Eiffel towers of borealis Malleable gallows to hang my shallow hours In prowling mandala’s galleries In the chains of proliferation’s precipitation In the nape of aether wafers Of sunlight glaciers of tongue bite Naked and finite As they kiss the lips of precipice Clean of cerulean cathedrals Of the maleficent crest of dragging heels Walking gospels of a gothic metropolis The phoenix of evening, the coiled anaconda of sun, spun into wanderers In the drawling polymers of hallways That heaven remembered and once surrendered me my energy In the jade corridors of a promenade of primordial northern winds And seraphim grinning in the schism of equilibrium In the rinsing photosynthesis Of aurora floral glorious mortar and pestle infinitesimal As the abyss of ellipses drip down from a stone chalice Howling into the pavilions of bougainvillea in the night Wilting into silken willow wisps like vermilion guillotines For dead dreams in the cream of a helix Reaching up to the crepuscular nectar In the crescent of a sickled moon spoon-fed with bread Looming over supernova coves Oh molten solstice in the threads of a nebula Boiling over the clover of sun One with the umbrage of dozen running waterways hazel An umbrella parhelion Dwelling within bevelling cellars of velvet Dim bridges of amaryllis Over the beach of antiquity like a urethan beacon spangled across Pillows of syllables that grasp ecclesiastically The facetted trappings of the final asters Evaporated in the jasper and brass of ashes In the laced aether cremated from haven’s assimilation Mashing alabaster graphite Into the groves of ambrosia, Wolves in the clearing of a phoenix Soma’s tangled bangles of hair Afros of daffodils in the cerulean bougainvillea Strangling looping Jupitar over combing cloves of oceans of locusts comatose Under the elixir of eclipse in lactescent ecstasy; I am the moon’s effigy Breathlessly exiting the lungs of parhelion Like a curdled tuft of smoke rustling through the reeds The inferno dipped in chords for tomorrow with its fistful of lithium conifers Of nickel bristles braided and laid in a maze of hurricanes Raking the sun of the world to come, I remedy my serenity and upend my friends in Armageddon In its (un)sett(l)ing remedy of heavenly extremities Construed musically into mitochondrial constellations in the condos of comatose doses of opium Concubine unwind on vinyl Shapeless tapering in the wake of salvation (Undone and bewondered) Through amorphous fortresses of incandescent decibels I shriek from the streak of colour Smothering brotherhoods from the woods Graffitied in your dryad eyes Frescoed against the face a concrete slate Staking out the umbrella of high-rise Spiralling into the depiction of science fiction Rippling ellipsis of crystals In the waterfall of columns discombobulated; Mandala choreography In the depths of precipice Fishing for the incubus abyss in the tremor of heaven A speleothem in the remnants of ants That prance as we crawl through the sands of this world Not to know that we are all also entranced With their religious anthems of dandelion vinyl and its quiet kaleidoscope of interwoven opium As they wave their banners of amethyst against the barbed wire of these horizons Spiralling into perspiring empires In their rhinestones’ shrine of divine iris Blind messiahs sire their briars from the thorns of a rose Reddening in the threading epicentre Of leather petals in the flower of Armageddon Shredded parhelion as the dandelions; Shy to skies of formaldehyde Are crushed underfoot by the sunburned nooks Of a thunderous hook of inukshuks A thousandfold forests Burning in the ferns of eternal kernels of inferno Exploding into exodus and bellflower and abyss And light and shadow and violets and gallows of wildfire’s violin; Skinning the tributaries of their varicose host; Coasts to coast posies, roses of prose from the rows of custodians bored in their rollercoasters Ghosts and poltergeist write to the white blight of blackberries in the night That scatter throughout the city like the shrouded shrapnel over a cowl of night Who needs no light; The balaclavas of an avalanche Vanquishing lithium from the basin of clay The serrated edges of Armageddon In the severing of a pomegranate’s canvas And aether cremation in its stretching crescents of vesicles That crippled Icarus Held on his back like sacrilege To give to the King of Caliginous Prisms risen in the sun Bewildering shillings of guillotines In the malign sign of dryads crying from spires In the landslide of kaleidoscope opals With the torture of sober roses Closing their eyes for the final time In the heaven’s anesthetic medley For the brevity of Armageddon heavenly; Memories wedding yourself to closed mouths Never to tell you of your forgotten name; And everything else that you have gave To the conclave like an entrée Concrete penance without comprehension To the dimensions of evanescence pressed in pestilence To the saviours of your condemnation And the grave laid in sable grasses And black asters like onyx monuments Splintered in scintillation; Skidding with the cinders of withered chiselled shards Carved into the barbed winter Chipped teeth of the stonework Cracked pottery open their mouths clattering their lids like pyramids Leading into the bottom of the earth Resuscitating cremation In the carapace of chaos blossoming In the gospel of metropolis Blessed by depths in the vessel of Nephilim’s fresco In the trek through the mountains And the breath of pestilent bethels Wrestling through the illuminating moon Over villages of vermilion basilicas In the frilling sigil of bougainvillea And frigid waterlilies of calligraphy Cylindrical vigilantes in the chrysanthemums of ample hippocampus In the damp heat of sanctuary vicariously ferrying the barricades of alstroemerias And the waving wisterias like narrow clarinets Of the restless resurrection of crepuscular Nephilim; Nectars spectral in the vessels that perpetuate creation In the glaciers of civilizations’ lakes of basin Aether and aegis of fable’s cremating Elation construed in futile pseudonyms In the hallucinogens of an unending heaven Upended by pendulums of clockwork in the phosphorus outcroppings Forefathers’ conquered swabbing cottontail obelisks Assemblage of novels Knocking clockwork kaleidoscopic in swathing phosphorus Crossroads knotted in the bottomless nocturne Like a nocked arrow In barrows of prairie land amber as the fallen sun In the amorphous malaise of daisies, Sable cottontails on a railroad of trailing azaleas Barrelling into the varicose ocean of sky; called a sunrise, this orb of glory fornicating oasis With its one eye spiralling down into the ground’s foundation Slipping from its wicker; its naked urethra of sacred acres Of aether’s fortifications raked of blood from the stakes in the mud and lines in the sands Hovering over the broken body of solace unfolding in the solstice osmosis of Rorschach thunderclaps under the black of this muddled track called a stanza; In the canvas grappling with lapis lazuli Dazzling the eye of sunrise in the surrender of its tendrils Gleaming with evening mist crystallized like an umbilical cord around my neck; The spruce of a loosening crucifix Tendons bending in the embers of god-fire lilac And barbed ire horizon rending in its compendium Blending in remembrance like a coagulated oasis With stalactites of ichor like a gulf of penultimates Stung by the thunder of a lumbering penumbra Constructed of lustrous constellations Cold as the primordial that birthed itself Serpentine from the surrender of the night In its ripe knife of brightest twilight To a reverend of the sky like a pendulum worldwide kaleidoscope in the ferns of burgundy Bulbous mandalas of florescent efflorescence blessed with exodus perpetual in wretched ecstasy Among burs of metallurgy Churning into something with spine; With malice in its ice-cold chalice of palisade Divinely unbridled winding itself (like the hands of a clock) Around the mouth of Gods and hell Like the belt of an ocean bulging collages and mandalas Flowing through the soma’s blue hues of Lucifer In lactescent evanescence’s of a luminescent precipice In a calcified kaleidoscope-like ribboning amygdala’s Spinning incendiary in prosperity’s Ferris wheel Under the heel of a speleothem in a borealis palisade In the palm of a gondola of green Herculean palpitating hazels of Azazel’s oasis Like pastels of parhelion In an eldritch melody felt of velvety caramel Yellowing the eyes of God in a turbulent hurricane Merging with ferns of sterling swirling into hummingbirds Unfurling the floweret etched in the crescent moon Stretching into noon through lunar ruminating mushrooms of cumulus Like rigging rivers of gibberish into squiggly scintillation Sprigging figures of limbo’s prisms and linen in their splintering amygdala’s Wrinkling in an infinite symphony of echoing decrepit bethels In the incandescent decibels of transmogrified high-wires Like irises and hyacinth blitzing the wisps of intricate glyphs In the intravenous cathedral leading to the beacon of Prometheus A phoenix leaping Through the tired eyes of a miser’s sunrise Like a geyser indescribable in the chimera of twilight’s bible Rewiring the guitars of cinnabar and the ukuleles of sables Waltzing with the palpitating kite like a knife of moonlight Cutting into seraphim written in lithium on the pages of an aegis Glaciers blazing black like straitjackets in a maelstrom; Rorschach of taffeta shrapnel sacrilege Capsized in the Nihilism Diamonds in a rhinestone Refining the papyrus horizon A mesh of crescent effigies at the bethel’s incandescent precipice Believing in Elysium cathedrals of a mausoleum Breathing in the regal hymns Of dim-lit basements of polymerization Concrete constellations etched on my walls collage and mandala Into the frolicking cauldrons of palm-prints Solitary sin chariots in the alms of a pomegranate An ensemble of bonds plucking flower petals from the disassembling memories That blend the memento of osmosis into betrothed oceans Crows of white lotuses like a ripe disciple of poltergeist nightingales In the endless Serengeti of heavens breached by attics reaching For the leafage of primordial foliage Crawlspaces of basins in the quaking wastelands Abbreviated recirculating oasis speckling with ecstasy A crepuscular reckoning in the blessed hecatomb Blooming newborn flowers in the gallows of borealis Stalagmites that decipher the depths of connection In the wreckage of creation’s nape Of ovulating craniums Crawling through starlings of barley harlequin A disembodied assemblage of voices In the porcelain void of a meteor Expurgatorius as a Morningstar in the cartilage and arteries of a partisans’ avalanche Carving yarns of the mountains into hourglass shapes In the trachea barking at escarpments Scarred by the scaffolding of Rorschach over the corneas of phantasmagoria Corridors that furrow (the brow of) eternity Into currents and channels of borealis Palaces unravelling through the terpsichorean trees of serpentine Grieving seething in the glee of insanity Paddling cataclysm through streams of seamless blue-green reeds And reeling cathedrals that peel away at the wallpaper in the hallways In the cremation of aether following the demolished columns of polished colosseums Between the neon crawl of an auburn God Scratching at the skin of seraphim’s incendiary Equilibrium of crimson defibrillation Of knowledgeable malleable methodical prodigies of origami; Wanderers torn to shreds in the bedlam of heaven In its gnarling polymers and stalls of sundial Winding itself around the sound of well-wrapped tapestries Of ecclesiastics brass and lapis lanterns Of ferns in the tornadoes that railroad themselves Around the wreathing steeple leaping terpsichorean Like a forked tongue Umbra’s flame split into photosynthesis And phosphorescent Armageddon; The flocking of mockingbirds in the nocturnal blur of apostles Docked in outcropping Mosques of Ragnarök Tossing brothels of apostles from the flame into ozone waves and everglades Buried beneath the creased skin of the earth In the peripheral perennial of paraphernalia in the unwritten airways made blank And laid by haven’s conclave oasis Baking and raked by the fingertips of gypsies On lips of lithium and in the mouth of God a collage of starlings And the fawns of mitochondria in a forest of borealis Bowing down from the nether’s reverends Leaden heavens with the weight of elation in the graceless creation Shaped in vases and valleys that palisades the crestfallen And diabolical furthering the blurring surging of thaumaturgy Emerging from the burgundy metallurgy Contorted amorphous in gorges of porcelain Marvelling at the reddening heavens of bedlam In an evangelical’s parhelion swelling with pelicans snorkelling in vorpal incorporeal strings Surrendering through generations’ propagation Born from the spores of hatred Collared by the jaws of a collage of constellations conversating elation In the face of a maelstrom, the lifeless mistral of ripe maestros’ mistress of the abyss Flowing through the ambrosial soup of it all Malting at the alter of penultima palpating creation Surrendering their crippled withered petal from yellow ghettos in the form of chlorophyll Born to be this Sacrifice, hate, longing for, love Born again And for what (now)? This human monster; never to understand the true meaning behind their roots Still waiting (with their unanswered prayers still bare) In this decrepit garden of prideful belief; talking themselves into self worth; into megalomania They are but dirt with a different colour Nameless things given names Yet to be uprooted In the house of God Planted to be uprooted Planted to be beautiful They laugh, they cry They live, they die… Until they are naught but nothing in his eyes Blind, dull specks, a-blur in comparison, shunned by light itself Eyesores next to his brilliant colours; coarse, dishevelled, gracelessly hardy, and for what? When I see them now, I can’t help myself but to say They are Like wildflowers (in the depths of Tartarus and winter) Infinitesimal yet nothing Passing, like boomerangs, curving, and twisting in the forests Jesting in their crepuscular bethel Never to see the light of day Before the brink of night Never shadow nor radiant Blindmen, these wildflowers are, Little more than weeds So why do we stare up at the sun? As if we’re not blinded by it? A candle in the dark is blinding Flowering As it flows through us Ink in our veins How do we know heaven? From hell? How do we love? When there is only hate? How do we live Knowing death Is what we are destined for? Forever malevolently a dying light Fragile and pointless Yet here I am I burn for them still What can I say I crave warmth But not the fire What is love? But weakness, a gift you could never conceive yourself What is it? But taking out your own heart, ripping it from your messy chest And asking another to bite into its center, giving that, planting that In another A wildflower In the dirty palms of a prayer But I don’t give what I can’t have Would you? For what is warmth But the fire? Lighting up, a beacon, a cigarette, in my dark, dry eyes I look away, following the path in the shadows What is hate, and longing? I have no love to give anymore But as I walk the path past the lighthouse And crave the shade Blending into the shadows of the night I find there is little or nothing to gain In making light of all there is In following shadows, chasing the wind into the crack of dawn in a black porcelain sky Yet walking back into the sun is something I refuse As wildflowers scatter to the wind in winter’s cold grip I am not too different But sometimes I still watch the stars They remind me of how I burn, A cigarette in hand As the wind blows through the dry grasses like a trumpet How can we have warmth? I only know the fire (I stomp on the butt, and think see it crawl its way from the dirt, as if it doesn’t know; salvation) (Is cruel) [(Little one)] (The children will forget you and your frail roots) (They will pave over you, you know?) (Little flower) (They will make gardens of you) ([Make dirt] of your bones) (They have their own colours, brighter than your sun, love will not remain, yours is theirs) (And I cannot, [and will not] stop them) [Don’t look to me, for reason, love, unification] [Don’t look at me for hate, spite] [There is no anger here] [There is only wasted breath] [I am ugly beneath the skin; like them, unlike you, like everyone else is] I care little for humanity, I care little for eventuality, for time, for the broken words of the dead [For I am no better, no different than them, at all] [They are me, I am them] [I only became gardener to taste the ripening fruit, everything else is bitter to my tongue] [Like a dog, biting at the fingers of life] [I buried the past only to dig it up] [To play with it] [Gnawing at the bones that forget the body of words they were sentenced too] [Men without leashes know no better] [Men without leashes have no purpose] [Men without leashes] [Trample flowers] [Men without leashes wrestle in the mud] [Where we wait, anxious, until only one winner emerges up, clad in mud from below the dirt] <[(Swathed in the eyes of veiled angels)]> <[(As sure as the sun rises in the east and falls from the tower of God in the west)]> <[(Stomping on everything under the sun with an {inelegant} foot, in emotionless passion)]> [(To be victorious under all the heavens’ gaze, to spit in the eyes of fate and smile, red-toothed)] <[(Asking to become the birthplace of flowers, or their progenitor)]> <[(Born from the husk of nothingness, built from the arms that do not strangle, but cradle)]> <[(Nurtured by emptiness, shaped by placidity, enlightened by void, embraced by silence )]> [And I] <[(Among the boreal shores of rigor-mortis)]> [(Listening to the trill of stillness {receding elysian} stampeding through the trees am reminded)] <[(As they tear the hours off of flower petals without ever asking why)]> <[(As they lie listening to the cool breeze skin the scalps off all the hours)]> <[(As they plant the seeds of skyscrapers among the rust)]> <[(I know {my words are pointless, fruitless)]> <[(And maybe it is better this way)]> <[(To flow with the current into the depths of despair)]> <[(To strip the fat of happiness from the bones of being)]> <[(To remove the bird of its feathered wings)]> <[(To uproot the tendrils of heaven and their columns of polyphonic andromeda)]> [(To watch the clouds fall and tumble down the hillsides; down into the dirt; the earth; the rot)] <[(I know that love is not necessary to flourish)]> <[(Not here, and not now)]> <[(Where the dandelions grow freely)]> <[(Where the marigolds parasol under umbrella like parhelion of skeletons)]> <[({I see})]> <[(I know)]> <[(That I, {even still, even now, know that in my heart of hearts, somewhere, that I})]> [Can/could do nothing to stop them] <[(And that is the way of the world)]> <[(God will not hold your hand)]> <[(Only)]> <[(Watch)]> As the bell toles over a broken bethel; like splintered wood slithering through people’s veins As if cracks on a sidewalk where the horizon at dawn <[(As the mosaic comes crumbling together)]> <[Braided with flowers of callouses between the tapestries of our bloody hands)]> <[(Or falling apart, jigsaw, in the ruins of cumulus)]> Just Watch <[(Armageddon pieced together in his unthreaded leatherback tethered in the letters of man)]> <[(Stillwater; empty promises; nothing may change)]> <[(We thought we knew better)]> <[(We were wrong)]> <[(There are no tears for the eyes of mortal men)]> <[(And I)]> <[(Will do nothing to stop him/that)]> Once before I thought I was one of them Or maybe, perhaps They were What I used to be Clinging to a dream broken-fingered Destitute
Dry Whimper of Leaves
Monoliths of autumn’s lips Whispering encrypted glyphs of lithium Like a crystalline amorphous orchard An orchestral gorge of orchids In the flora of pandora’s meteoric tortured metamorphosis In a turquoise void coiling around the banner of clouds And fowl in hallelujah blooming from collusions From the root of a pseudonym’s movement In bluebirds’ hymns whimsical and dismal As the lackadaisical halos promenade across the everglades of page Shaving away at the laden grave of the Salem’s waves In shale oasis guided by the blinded eyes Assailing the paved haven of bougainvillea In shrivelling chiselled collision Within imprisoning civilizations Imprinted on the inkblots of clockwork nocturne From the docking metropolis of wrinkled linen Of abridging sigils in the silver skillet of wintered symphonies Billowing willowing umbilical silhouettes Whittling sails in the bethel’s vestige and (decadent decrepit) decibels (Delegating depths dressed in deafening chivalrous) Swivelling (cerulean pavilions trilling guillotines in the seamstress) Of syllables amaryllis skidding (quivering) over rivers of stygian (gibberish) (Of) frostbitten (ichor in the wickers of Icarus) (Footprints spindling incendiary in the lindens of) oblivion, And the dry whimpering of white on the cauldron of fallen leaves
Armour
Brimming umbilical in prisms of obsidian With bulbous leaves of pigmented handprints Photosynthesis among trimmed rivers of cinnabar scimitars Marring the harmony of onyx constellations Skipping through lithium and switchblades of sage, Of everglade trailing into prairies Azaleas nailed to the park bench and ochres’ kaleidoscope Of roses frozen over in the zodiacs That wrap around the blackness of castaways In the taffeta tapestries of elysian reeds And the squall of cottontails in the sleet of terpsichorean seabeds of dreaded heavens Leaden with the crevasses of edifice Blending bent into severed skin river Styx A crucifix around the neck of the woods; Coves of posies and supernovas among clovers and begonia Contorted orgies of floral gorges Tomorrow orbits the meteors of coral reefs Beneath the leaping wreaths of the urethra Seeping in the seething laughter A sapling cast in rapture’s baptism Rafters of blasphemy in mid-act of sacrilegious Obsidian disembodied mahogany obelisks Marbling the terracotta armour I’ve discarded Like the taunt that was once a mantra Mangled into the void of polaroids that capture the blur of my own voice in the foliage Echoing carnivalesque in the ears of corn And silenced by the barley Whispered by the carving of my stretching effigy on this bog-water body; Once more; drifting into the shapeshifting lithium In the tethered wisp of eucalyptus Pristine evergreens spread the seeds of weaving The cream of terpsichorean tenebrous osmosis Groping for the skin of a violin And the soma of violas Woven Beethoven into seamless inebriation In the lace wraiths of pollen ovulating oasis Reverberating glaciers of polymerization’s scintillating implantation Simultaneously staining itself In the swell of cellos tenebrous umbrella in the end of nebulas Melancholy mandala into skeletons Into the underbellies of stencilled pencilling tendrils Quelling elms’ cerebellums Of parhelion’s evangelical melody Flower petals breathe in the swim of seraphim Brimming over the hemorrhaged edge(s) of Everest’s schism Of malingering infinity swept in maleficent cobras of malodorous odious cyclones Of crows in the promenade of curtains of vertebrae Grazing on the acres of wafer left behind in the brine of denials’ kaleidoscope Approaching the dystopian dream Of an encroaching disease of birch; The serpentine cloak of clouds around the figures of stygian With its scythe of ichor written on the walls Of its polymers blossoming from the sarcophagus of its frothing esophagus Outcropping the gospel of apocalypse Lost in bliss encrypting glyphs from the pistols of lithium In the sunrise of fireworks Blurting the murmuring of thaumaturgy’s fervent hurricane Buried in the carrion of a merry-go-round In its tainted wafers of painted aether Chipping away glazed shades with the whispers of viscera In a tsunami of pomegranate static in the prismatic avalanche Under covers and sheets of colours Dabbling in rabid cataclysm unravelling the answer in a dance of chrysanthemums Prancing around the shroud of fallen clouds Crawling diabolically down into the ground And the fowls and borealis of stalactites Ripe with the knife of cytoplasm phantasm Of caverns abandoned in the chasms Whittled from the mountaintops glossed in orbs of amorphous porcelain Misshapen floral accordion Phantasmagoria like oars of fluorescent metallurgy Bending into cemeteries in the skies Where Gaia cries to her crypt of sisters lifting themselves like an elegy of yellow propellers Mellowing indelibly in velvety elms knelling of bellflowers’ galleries like doves of penumbra In the cast of brass and jasper pastures In the grasp of an hourglass’s rapids in a track of asters crafted In paths of alabaster dilapidated pastors of rapture Jasmine and junipers Translucent blurs of sutra burn in the eternal murmuring burgundy Furnace of turbulent urns churning (firmament in the thaumaturgy of these) hurricanes From the (chaos’ page of flame) glazed columns of the diabolical mausoleums of onomatopoeia Screaming to the herculean legions Crematorium in floral aurora borealis; Transmogrified choirs of boggled minds bonfire In the eyes of a wyvern’s widening iris Fibres of the byzantine skyline Writhing silently in the miles of barbed wire Siring kaleidoscopes from the gyroscope of lycanthropes Roping interloping cloaks of tuberculosis In the tenebrous host of croaking oceans Poking through the yoke of moons like an orchestral bless of indefinite precipices Infinitesimal bethels meshed together Like the brethren of endless heaven and (the split ends of) Armageddon
A Flower
Embalming in songs of comets Domino in cauldrons of thaumaturgy; Unfurling curls of sterling banners Ravelling in the staccato rattling in a labyrinth of wind Slivers of lithium bulbous like the throat of a frog Swallowing the orb of sun Redder than an apple Plucked from the orchards of clouds Shackled to the backbone of the sky caramelized in ivory hyacinths Ribs of the crimson rhythm turned stairway in the grey cadence of mantras under candelabra Columns of light that hold up their heaven on the back of one man, a ribboning river stygian A blasphemous atlas of dictionaries Combing through ovaries in the coiling foliage The books of inukshuk in the jail of ukuleles Pulling the strings into knotted trees Slipping into the rippling abyss With its mist of lithium crippled hieroglyphics In the forest of metamorphosis Where the dust settles parhelion into umbrella mandalas flowering into shallow watered gallows Where good men hang their heads From the kaleidoscope of threads Ventriloquists of vermillion pillars And pavilions in the citadels and basilicas of bellflowers Bouquets, gathered, each hue picked by the hand’s of God; Prodding maidens of the temple’s eventual tempo Of in the ephemeral murals I paint myself with; Canvas to the amethyst crystalline as the maleficent crescent wrestles with the sun; Mystified horizon Its unravelling ball of yarn, Cat chases winding into a dying spiral; A candle in a closet; A picture on my wall; Peeled (back) like skin from the back of my hand; Set out in the mildew; a flower, Sprouting from the coffins of lost gods, And, fallen angels who now belong to the dirt In which we thirst through the circulatory borealis and the cowls of palisades; I hold in my hands serenity; and in my mind insanity; The flower; It holds nothing with its roots; But dirt; and death, and perhaps, a new life; Freshly blooming in the iron pot of rotting phosphorus; Crossbred of Elysium; Denial spiralling in single file’s wired dialect; Flecks of spit that resurrected death; And so were shunned by the fork of tongues Strumming thundered summits in the ending of our brethren; Grasping passion in a leatherback again; Grown men; reverends; Who cannot comprehend or read in the envied trees Of the threading of the seed Masking its catastrophe (Learning forgetfulness) (Mindfully still) Taffeta of asphodels between the smiling cracks in a Rorschach’s blasphemy; Cast aside to be His bride; Cast aside to live or die (I could wait a million years and still never pick the beauty from between my teeth) (Go now and join the others) (I can do nothing to stop you; enjoy the moment) (It treads over itself [like tanks over unmarked graves lost to war]; pretending to be boundless) (Muddying the garden it came from) (If you want to [leave me], leave) (I can do nothing to stop you) (Time won’t wait) (Neither will I) (Like the white moon over a black sky) (Dawn is coming) (Don’t wait forever) (Don’t wait for impossibility) (It will not wait for you)
White Moon Black Sky
A kind wind of skimming wings; (Infinitesimal frescos in the highest heights of lightning deciphering ripe apples and saplings) (In the lap of a Rorschach passing castaways) (Grappling with blasphemy’s asters in whiplash pastures of apathy) (Lapsing, and then vastly) Swimming incendiary in the lactescent crescent Of a descent of bethels decibels sounding in the floundering Coward of hourglass pastures Grasses of the masked ecclesiasticals Baffling themselves with their open mouths In the velvet valves of gods of autonomous construction Of lustrous percussion in the vestige of stretching ecstasy’s precipice Centrifugal fortissimo in the riff of a basilica Unbound to the calcification and its oceanless oasis Like a tenebrous ghost in lime of caramelized horizons Writhing blindingly in their spiral’s iris Brine of spellbinding winding staircases in the face of elation; White moon; black sky; sunrise Like a spent memento in the ghettos of a swelling parhelion Evangelical melodies that melancholy columns of concrete elysian Peel back the fabric of a labyrinth of tapestries In the mosaic of azaleas etched in crepuscular taffeta Darker that midnight’s rite like a knife in cyclone Of an unbridled hand-guided kaleidoscope Of varicose opals plumerias dystopian Cloaking in the clocked hours of amalgams Valkyrie Stamped on the face of time like a brand of spirits In the hands of amaranths dancing Panther of chrysanthemums in the chrome glow of pandemonium’s comatose ambrosial aroma In zodiacs of rapture’s blasphemous Blazing blue of the reunion of a lucid nucleus Amusement for the setting of Armageddon Swinging through amygdala’s bloom sprigging figs of pigment figments Of stygian figures in the linden trees That stream through a zoo of cumulus Runes of eclipse ricochet through the bite of a life cycles’ pied piper Lightning striking the whiteness with its isotopes of ocean Roping themselves in the delving petal of a sunflowers’ sour-grass In the asters of sacrilege prisms of Saturn’s fist In satin alabaster quaking through the rake of ink stains Maelstrom frail as God’s halo Stretching into the etched crevasses of laughter ashes and poplars of apocalypse Drifting in the rippling shape shift of photosynthesis Conifers that bristle like a bending pen on the trapeze of free birds In the germinating wordless hurricane Gazing down in the balaclavas of crowns in the forest of borealis Malachite brightest in the cytoplasm of cataclysm Javelins of jade and jasper satin in the mishmash of asphodels Ashore with the moors of forevermore In doors of primordial chlorophyll boarding up by the ruptured fluster of brushstrokes’ gusto Soma of comatose roads where Oberon and the obelisks of novelists Were bottomlessly christened with the wisp of lithium Sifting through the blistered moon And the autumn espada of cottontails Columns rising in the isles That volumes pollenate with the sarcophagus of mockingbirds’ nocturne In the churning of metallurgy’s furnace in a bouquet of vertebrae As the sun rolls down from the burial mound of Excalibur And unravels like a ball of yarn A scarf of tongues tied together in the nether of a bethel’s efflorescent nectar In the pestles of evanescence Blending renegades into the greys of A twilights scythe unstringing the skin of a violin Remembering that September wind (Like cinders on my skin again)
Birds Without Wings
Waiting to be laid down into the bowels of the ground; Crowning owls of taloned Valhalla Spreading embers of vows to the hallowed gallows of Valkyries Perching serpents on pierced eardrums On piers of ethereal stretching incandescent to the precipice of bethels In sepulchres’ dodecahedrons eclipsing the echo of an echo of an echo With dry leaves that whimper in the fringe of scintillation Washing away the glades of oasis Bathed in transformational nature’s aether; Strawmen burning into wickers Match-lit ricochet through a picture-frame crazed In the apocryphal cacophony oozing with tributaries of arrowheads Embedded in the ground among the balaclava’s alleyways Through valleys jade Playing with the clay of a hurricane Barren plains that are bearing rain; In the fragrant entangled limbs dismantling in the chant of an avalanche Over the fence of new genesis; Incense of the incendiary flames megalomania Craning over the crumpled pages frayed and aging; Waging war on the orb phantasmagorical; Never reaching up to freedom; Paraplegic evening’s seamstress of Eden’s legions; Breathing in the brushstrokes of smoke and every bristled conifer of nickel crystalline [(Oaks of spoken word colloquialism in an expanse of chrysanthemums)] [(An expanse of white; an orb of violet over forests dead or slumbering; hills of brilliance)] Whiffing the trickling licks of lithium From the streams bohemian Of stretching incandescent pestle Crushing itself into rivers in the innards blizzards Submerged from the churning inferno of snow and locusts In the splint ends of heaven, Rippling vicissitudes ribboning in division Of windblown linden capillaries trickling down from the stone Luminescent crescents of crepuscular efflorescence’s Dresses and gowns of guises writhing in a spiralling string Strung violins over the tomb of a new moon’s reunion In the resolute flutes of tutelage In rosemary prairies in the clearings of an eardrums’ thunder Slumbering in the umbrage Drowning itself in the gout of alleyways Laced with aether’s graceful machinations Blazing in the sun through the lunar solstice Embroidered around the tattoo of stars on celestial bodies That lay awakened by side of God; Following immaculately meticulously into victories Christening the limbs of eternity in the twirling pearl In an ocean of black sanctuary And silver-handed sands and amaranths that clamp down on the sour grasslands of alabaster And the lacquered Damascus patchwork of anchored embankments Passages grappling with the saplings of castaways Taffeta of blasphemous tapestries that wrap around like a bangle of clouds Flooding the smothered sunburning colour Uttering a muddled prayer Stumbling over the hills of cerulean and frilling willows of whittled citadels That swell with the umbrella of parhelion; Slumbering awake on the ache of a moon’s face Eclipsed in the apparition of crucifixion All in the depths of one breath’s precipice; All in the depths of crepuscular ecstasy Crept back from the slate Sleeping wide awake A stake through the heart As I lost all my parts Putting back together the feathered resin Sun setting into my memories the medicine of Armageddon The remedy for heaven See? On the cusp deconstructing the lustre of nothingness Surrender me To an endless sea Deadly breeze December’s leaves They whisper to the invisible men I see them Around the bend Perching on the fingers of stygian Flourishing eternity A rose I pick From the mouth of a crow Forevermore God’s endless war The severed form of roaring chlorophyll Riddling the chiselled whittler
Weed
With the dust of gathering dahlias Let me escape back into the black amorphous Surrendering to the shadow That stretched its shoulders in early morning, before bending itself back into place Hiding from the clouds Where the cold sun cannot reach As it looks down on me with the anger of an angel Wrenching the halo from its head To bludgeon me With the light of God That left me blind Rorschach hearted Leaving my imprint on paradise Running my fingers (up and down and) along its spine (like a grand piano) Climbing the minor keys with ease was the only thing I ever knew to do; plucking each string Reaching for the next crevice What would you do? With (the knowledge of) such wasted beauty, (up there) A promised land All in the brush of honeysuckles Even hummingbirds must consume butterflies, if not nectar, berries Not in a fit of purposeless rage, no Not in vengeance, no, but salvation But hope It is not the meal that I enjoy But the feeling of being full I do not hate the butterfly I do not take life for the trophy, I do not take it for the hunt, but for tomorrow Reaching for the strength to go onwards Always reaching for the highest precipice See? I am no more evil than you Blinded by my own faith, yes, only knowing my own heart, yes, reaching, taking it for my own After knowing defeat, hearing it ring hollow like a drum in the ears of a new moon I reflect on the sun, yes Since the days I was a seedling with shallow roots But I do not know it like you I cannot reach its heights, nor would I intend to If there wasn’t anything to gain in fire, In its nothing, Then why would I wish to burn, I ask you? If there was nothing but blinding heat, Would I not close my eyes to it? (While you chase it) In all its stupidity aglow like a glass furnace mouldering into chapels of watercolour But in my dull colour, my brittle billowing silver ribbons of rivers shivering across in gospels Shackled to shallowing balconies of the trees that trapeze A coffin of blossoming phosphorus, a wildflower with fangs, with thorns Is this not somehow beautiful to try? To put the discarded pieces back together and try to recall, To summon something long lost Haunted by the séance of autumn waterways Like spiderwebs across the infinite empty, again To hope for yesterday, as anything more than a dream If I am all that’s left of a memory Am I not the living embodiment of its death? Does the grave not mark the body, Blister the skin, pierce the walls of a castle of flesh? Beating its chest into the palpated rhythm of reverberating nations, in the lace of elation And if it marks me Brands me; a hunk of iron Hammered into something with shape, with heft (with ease weavers of daggers’ bleeding elysian) Pressed against the anvil of every passing day Is the body not mine? Am I not shaped by the tools that buried me? (In an embalming ensemble of columns of polymerized halogens) (In the resin of dead men’s crevices) The same ones lifted me from the rocks And then carried me From beneath the womb of dirt Into coarse air Under the eyes of the sun? Intimately loveless, alone, unique, separated And yet everything at once? I am prideful But not arrogant I am cautious But not hesitant I am isolated But not alone And so I live this way Tell me, Is there any better way To live? Is there any better way to die? To surrender yourself to the shadow of night And then the brightness of day? Again, Again, And Again Bent out of and then back into shape Like we were meant to be
Of Devil’s Evangelion (Inspired by Neon Genesis Evangelion)
I feel nothing (Little but the swell of the ocean before it slinks back from tide driven shores) (Little but the thunder before the lightning) (Little but the axe head with a broken handle, its dull edifice stretched with the behest of rust) (Little but the cold waters in the dead of winter, whispering of spring to the distant dinghies) (Little more numerous than stars as they freckle the face of the moon) [The jukebox of my acoustic nucleus strewn in the many colours of booming June] (Feeling nothing) (But [in] my dreams,) (Watching them infinitely go down the endless drain of time’s writhing spiral) (Leaves me but an emotionless ghost) (The host of nothing’s great shell) (I am the innards of darkness) (And the hollow of the moon) (Pulling myself inside out) (Swallowing polymerization in the stellar light as I pull it through the pipes of a shadow) (Meadowlands that raze bland) (The hecatoncheires and their hundred hands) (Bangles of the sanguine) (Tangled in the embrace of their emaciated dreams) (Under the colour smothered covers of their sleeves) (Weaving the seams uneven) (In for the kill of the billowing willows still as black widows whittling bougainvillea) (After years of wilted flowers in the dirt) (After years) (In the dusty succor of rusted lustre) (After years of it all, without a smile to crack like a beer bottle against a porcelain face) (I feel nothing) (Or at least) (I tell myself) (There is little) (But little lives) (For little men) (With little dreams) (I wear the crown) (In a world without kings, men, or love) I wear the crown (There is little) (But little hope) (I wear the crown) (And that reality) (It sings most loudly) (To me) (Most poignantly) [And] (Voicelessly) [, so] (Perhaps the only thing I’ll hear again) (The sound of nothing whistling in my ears) (The volumes written by the hands of a silent clock) (Ticking away into the beige winter morning) (The effigy of minutes passing into days, years, dry handwriting, dry eyes, split tongue) (And slit irises, posies, roses, in still motion, standing among those damned into verdant silence) (Without the slightest of changes) (Or the greatest) (The next day convulses on the palpitating horizon) (It is waiting for me) (It too is infinitesimal,) [Stretched out on the sofa] [Too tired in doing something to do nothing] (Impermeable, ephemeral, alone) (Perhaps we can share some form of conversation) (Yes?) (Or is it too as impatient as I?) [(Lost in the eyes of the fallen skies?)] [(The sap of the trees dusted in angel feathers)] [(In the down of velvety parhelion)] [(Bellowing evangelion)] [(To the passing crows)] [(That hear the sound of nothing)] [(And ask if it was something)] [(Once)]
Crown
I wear the crown Yes All my memories are filled with hate And there is nothing; no joy that endures I know only that And so I show no remorse; except for my words, my hand, dealt fairly In which in all that I am Is laid bare on the cracked concrete The pavement Like roadkill They are In for the kill I still know nothing And do not wish to learn The sky has fallen for you with atlas in tow The sky has forgotten the stars, cruel mistress of shadowed pines; straddling the lines of cyan Bristled forest of angel wings and dwarves’ beard Oblivious yet indiscriminate to it all, uncaring, unknowing, callous, ignorant It screams silently under its breath Can you hear it? [In its squealing speleothems] The sky has fallen like the words off this page Crumbling into dust Yet so have I I have waiting till the end of time Till the end of days [(Through psychedelic parhelion;)] [(Though renaissance of mantras sauntering in the embalming of constellations)] [(Reddening over hallucinogenic evergreens of reverends’ cemeteries)] [(In its whispering shapeshifting ichor of a miscarriage of arrogant clarinets)] The sky has fallen away into the dusty vase of the earth and its terracotta vibrato of mausoleums Like a great embankment of glass collapsing under its own weight; the baggage of its sins Like a dry riverbed, stuck in the mud of its causeway; (Embarking on its escarpment; its pointless journey, its undoubtable untraceable failure) (Never to reach the top, the heavens watching smug) (And not unlike them) What once flowed through me like a stream of hot iron (has passed) I do not forget the endless anger I once had all to myself, which I treasured I was born for this Born to burn into cinders in the tight grasp of a godless world, A chain of interwoven prayers around my bent neck For I knew nothing ([In this amorphous void)] But to listen in silence (to end of the world echoing in my eardrums) Born from the wreckage of perfection’s precipice I am more rough draft than magnum opus More man than saint More word than voice Am I any more than this? Waiting at the peak of a mountain of words I cannot say; leaving me blinded by fury; Tested by rage Unable to (enjoy, to) see the beautiful view I had been blessed with (For what it is) [Or for what it could be] Instead I seek to destroy it Instead, to demolish the church of stone into statues; music of silent anger in vessels of rock Made ageless, immortal, vorpal (and amorphous, chords of porcelain) like the sting of scorpion Made into burial ground for my (orphaned) words (among the prickly sycamores) Unable to feel anything from these peeling clouds of the pomegranate (laminated amethyst) That hide from the anger of Gods Bright as the sun I wear my crown With its dull sheen Like a king with no subjects Like a man with no heart Looming over nothing(ness) [(Amorphous, misshapen)] [(Empty in my fulness)] Created in the formless; in the shapeless; (in the) nothing; a prison I built for myself [(Like an open mouth; jaws unhinged like seraphim, newborn twins in the ingot of blue sky)] [(In these yellow archipelagos)] I pretend to be the last flower (Pretend to love, when I really just hate) In a world of weeds (Of needs) In a world full of trampling feet In a world full of silence So loud, so much, that it becomes palpable, that it becomes undeniable, absolute, unending (Kneaded dough of cloud, heated tambourine of sky; the ringing of tangled noise in my ears) (So much) That I am dressed in its rustic colours That it becomes the world outside my window That it becomes the letters on my keyboard As immovable as a mountain worn away until brittle page As gullible as a bluebird as it reaches towards the sun Am I any different? As if it could hold it (all) in the palm of its hand like an offering to a false god To be caught in its splendid rhinestone light As if Without realizing The casting of its shadow From the metallurgy of the night Is lengthening Behind their back As if Like the culmination of all their sins and seraphim Snowballing into the galleys of Catholicism Travelling on an endless sheet of paper Stained with the watercolour Of the gray tides As if Knowing nothing The world continues on As if nothing but the wind Continued on its journey Without me (I wear the crown) (Yes) (And it has shackled me) (With its jeweled chains) (But I still don’t wish to destroy it all yet) [(With this rough grasp of power)] [(With the world in my hands)] [(My fingers wrapped around the steeples of skyscrapers)] [(I know I am weak)] [(Empty in my fulness)] <[(All that I am)]> [(Unfolding covers of clouds like sheet music; creases of flattened linen, in the prism of rays)] [(The sun; drawn out by slow hands like a line across paper, watches, waits for me)] [(To dip below the surface of the earth;)] [(To fizzle and die out prematurely)] [(Before the moon, eclipsed by the passage of time, by light, by sound, the shadow I cast)] [(Love leading into hate)] [(Faith leading into anger)] <[(Doubt leading into betrayal)]> [(I know that I am nothing)] [(And)] [(That is perhaps)] [(The greatest crown of all)] [(Fading into the obscurity of graffitied works, forgotten works, ink-stained works)] [(Fading, always fading)] [(A coward,)] <[(With or without love)]> <[(But still)]> [(Never to see the light of day)] <[(They wind me up and then I go; like clockwork)]> <[(But I wear it, yes?)]> (Glinting like fresh [fallen] snow [in heated summer]) Look, look, look at it dazzling like fallen stars, like fallen angels I must What else is there for me? In life And in death But this? Once, all my memory were filled with love Now there is nothing, no joy that endures Tragedy and torment, voice and silence, sentences I cannot read out aloud, intertwining in vinyl Hidden in the dark chambers of a padlocked mind the needle threading a black Serengeti The recesses of ecstasy bent into deadening Armageddon What is anything I’ve ever owned, ever touched, ever known, but that? This expanse of nothing; immeasurable, past the highest peaks of bliss, rivers, valleys of despair Greater than the stone ridges I have climbed as easily as staircases, as thoughtlessly as trails Was there ever anything more? Was I too greedy; too immature? To notice this single truth I was once so blind to? Casting its shadow in the light? <[(The waves must crash and burn; battering the shore like artillery fire would to no avail)]> <[(The anvils hammer together metal scrap in an ashen forge by the rusted landfills)]> <[(The forgotten memories dissolve; twisting dismembered wendigos in morgues forsworn)]> <[(The kites of lightning’s cypresses must break their fingers along the stings of my guitar)]> <[(The birds soar caught between the teeth of war engines; their broken wings a pendulum)]> <[(Like clouds amidst skies the sun must die, dimming into symmetry)]> <[(Apples, their cores, rotting into ripened fruit)]> <[(The rain softly whispers ellipsis drowning as the sewers pour)]> <[(Only to rise from the shallows of a grave draining in the damp heat)]> <[(I am no different)]> <[(God will forget me, like he has forgotten them)]> <[(As dust becomes dust)]> <[(As mountain becomes molehill)]> <[(As ocean becomes empty)]> <[(As man becomes shadow)]> <[(Figures cast without light)]> <[(Transmogrified by time)]> <[(There is a price for every freedom)]> <[(There is cost for every gift)]> <[(There is a catch to every bargain)]> <[(There is a bridge through every rift)]> <[(Was I looking for something more?)]> <[(As if from death(’s manger, a stranger), I wasn’t born?)]> As if I haven’t taken what’s been given without some form of remorseless force? Even monsters learn to love Even angels become devils Good men die young Bad men live free Could I wear the rose without its thorns? Have the peace I wanted, without war? The dreams I pictured This world I scorn The image crippled, my visage torn? Like magnolias on a polaroid Wilting into the silhouette of death crepuscular I am the calm I am the storm I am the calm I didn’t know But somehow I still know nothing At all All that glitters isn’t gold All that glitters All I know All that glitters lines their holes Guardians for the phosphorus of lost souls hanging from telephone poles All that glitters Mine alone All that glitters; disfigured from the tips of each ringed finger in limbs of stygian ridges Oblivious to the bliss in each rugged kiss Born blind to a world that hasn’t learned to feel Love is wasted here <[(In this worthless breakthrough)]> <[(This life)]> <[(A prison I built for myself)]> <[(A holding cell for letting go)]> Why would you tell me otherwise? Without hate? I already know that answer That you deny For you are ignorant And lost While I gather up the pieces Rebuilding the ideas That were But don’t (let me) put my words In your mouth <[(In) these arms)]> <[(You are)]> <[(Bound to be set free)]> The day is drawn out by the slow hands of a clock Composing its symphony until the end of time Why hesitate? As it is (in our freedom, that we are) all we are
Blind Visionaries
You say, Do we not know one another? But I ask you, How would you [not] know [me]? How can you love Without hate? How can you learn Without loss? To understand is to know nothing Where there is meaning, true sincerity, there is true meaninglessness, true falsehood But within Nihilism, within silence; a hummingbird dead on the sidewalk To understand the depths is as lucrative as the highest peaks, Is grasping the low hanging fruit Not beauty? In destruction we create something in and of ourselves I understand the texture in meanlessness, The consistency of nothing, the flow of stillness; the curtesy of suffering; the order of madness The heavens The midnight sky and the blinding cities The pastures of black sands And the nebulous swell of balconies of pelicans grinning in the swimming sun Is meaningless The magnificence of mediocrity; is the sun circling the earth like a shark in pestilent waters Is the colour that covers the bone in black and white Is meaningless and Lives within and outside it all An extension of intimacy Is the spiral staircase of a double helix Lost in the unwrapping (in glass) laughter (and taffeta basilisks of atrophy) in our (grey) dna Is in the islands built upon our backs like volcanoes, carried up the sides of mountains Down the paths of rapids collapsing on each other by the dozen Is books of earth, wind, water, fire; That reflect and replicate the elements of humanity In syncope like the glint of a twinkling splintered symphony That flow like rivers of ice, bend like breezes of hushed placidity, Burn like tidal waves of yellow eating cathedrals of green Over the vase of cliffs like terracotta throttling the engine of life with its own two hands Is a cat stretching its back, crawling up my legs in the early hours of grey morning Is the thunderclap crawling back in saxophones Of life’s passage that shackles the hands of a clock but if for a moment It is all we are Something within the nothing that found the strength to have a name; to be someone; something Is there not beauty, grace, strength, in that? Reaching out from (this cell, this limbo, enkindled) This (stage of rib)cage Before we learn to close the last door between our hearts, sit there with me; In the musicality of soundlessness In the placidity of shape In the cognition without mind In the structure of a chapel like a buried caskets’ passive dilapidation Unearthing itself from the mouth of a riverbed Threaded through the thicket of hands on a city street corner Filed between the lines on a page Beneath the stillness of the willows chiseled in a million (vermillion cerulean) leaves and flowers Encased of the aether of glaciers in polymerization Irrational thought becoming rational Delayed music slowing down into calm white noise Or speeding up crashing dilapidated into black alabaster rafters of Rorschach daffodil and sigils My cylindrical noise of exfoliating voice rolled between the fingers of silence; Broken into shape like melted glass; Your dandelion horizons lining the walls like pages of stained lamination; Aether laced lavender Abaddon of avenues blue; Of green views [that loop] blooming in the iris swirling sterling In your spiralling eyes’ kaleidoscope In the floating totem ambrosial crocheted ocean of trees Crowned in their outstretched heaven; Meeting my gaze; looking for the truth; Separating into right or wrong; of black and white; (do you really see me, or am I an illusion?) An indescribable amorphous image that isn’t comprehensible Ignorant of all the possibilities; We are Blind to our similar images; We are Fading into the braziers of colour and shade Amalgamating greys that glaze into sable; Bleeding phoenixes of weeded arboretums; Holding the frayed edge of a helix like a balloon as it unravels into javelins; In its full moon spiral dahlias; What of it? What if? Love is not a singular destination Or a single person Beyond the spun tundra’s of a river running sun crashing alabaster; Reeding through the skies in a bible of lilac Spiderwebbing eleven Everest from between every brick within my opening fist; On the brink of infinite; (on the fringe of Olympian scintillation) An iridescent messenger for the word that spilled from my lips like a flood In the mudslide divide of horizons between the eyes Of bridles and briars of Nihilism Braided in the [same] frame [irradiated] of reclamation [shaping the dilapidated acres] In the gates of surrendered endless heaven; Pent up in the lustre of rustling leaves Paraplegic and stained with the weight of rain; Frills of daffodils cerulean in a familiar guillotine Whittling away at the shape of god; [Molded clay] Chipped columns that facade the collage of bulbous penultimance What is love if not mine? What is hate, if not yours; idiosyncrasy It is meaningless And in that There is infinite intricacy Within the identity of the unknowable It is good to know There is a light In my darkness For your darkness Is my light We are bound together Meant to swallow each other whole Is there any better way to live Than if to die brilliantly? Than to live dimly, dead, husk, flickering, empty I see you Everything I know For what you are Seek my shadow, as easily as I your sun Burning yourself onto my canvas Seek my cool breeze While I take in your heat On the back of my hand Like a brand Or a tattoo I see you See, without the sun I would be without my shadow I would be blind A visionless horizon Without each other, Would we really be that different? Indistinguishable, uninteresting, shades of grey; homogenized colour, emotionless, dull paint Without the instinct, without the melody, the harmony To share our reason To call madness Order And still see only ourselves; our discrimination; our lives Each blind to our flaws Directionless perfection Watered down into disappointment Knowledge that knows no bounds but our own bias Blindness Not a mirror image Not a flipped coin Grasping ideal that mean nothing That pretend symbol That pretend emotion No We are just scattered thoughts like ravens gathering together on telephone poles in the night We are just white walled agony under florescent crescents of a square hospital ward An open window that can barely contain the transience of beings beyond its reach We are just empty fulfillment We make meaning When there is none The ragged flags of an old world that passed on (a long time ago) Relic to time it is, (its constant flow has left this rock behind) Ripples forever folding in undulation Never learning what it means to speak Born in silence Sound collects like water; in ponds where the waterlilies of genre, of poetry, of art fill the lungs Drowning in literacy; creativity; the gifts of a mind the gods couldn’t give us Flawed magic, null brilliance; looking at itself mirrored within every able mind lost Every unhinged doorframe of lips; every polaroid; every colour painted on our walls [Blindly visual] [Hallucinogenic edifice] Perhaps it is better this way Words hanging from the roof of our mouths [This slipknot] The low hanging fruit I named it beautiful If you wanted something to stand for; another stake to pierce your tongue with texture With connection, with complexity, with something; the key to the old mental prison of your mind I could do the same for you Sit between the archives of horizons The cell of bluebells, or ivory barred windows [The picket fence of redemption, cemented in the brine of clementines kaleidoscopes; like opals] The crawlspace under the stairs, (under the stars) Make discrimination, make bias of the world given to you Hold it in your hands and shape it Call it yours, or God’s And then leave the prison of release, of realization And see That it means nothing Nothing at all That you and I are warped memories of something that doesn’t exist What is there to believe in, that we don’t believe in Who saves the right from those who claim righteousness? Your uncertainty is instinct; it is unknowable; what you call unquestionable I call ridiculous Read like lines on the faces of mountains Like acrylic bougainvillea Who saves the world from those who save the world? Who gives their lives for those who give their lives? Who protects the weak from men who protect the weak? There are many answers that lead nowhere Dead ends At the end of a road pockmarked with justice; with realization; understanding It sickens me, (pains me) To seek the dullness, flat light, coiled shadow within the spangled hands of a winding dandelion To taste the void of salt water that kisses the lips of air cold To see the ugly blotches of life; call them beautiful Void of white written upon, Trampled by the hooves of black ink galloping along the trail of a sentence (Horses) Bent out of proportion contorting chariots of paragraphs like (gaseous) astronauts Floating in comatose ambrosia in coves of soma roads of clovers To paint the world without colour(s) Love, or hate Noise, and symphony Depth, or summit Imprint and erasure Madness, and sanity Loyalty, or betrayal It hurts (And yes) (It hurts) To give that world free reign To pull out my own entrails like musical notes to hang as halos and hold my offering of Nihilism (Asking why) Up to the hyacinth skies (Will it ever answer?) Behind the bars of a prison I wrote for myself And I ask myself Is it not beautiful? And meaningless And horrible (All one) Imprinted behind the bonfire lids of my eyes ([What] Is the light [if] not blinding, and deafening]?) ([What]Is the dark [if] not all-encompassing, [and immeasurable]?) Nothing passing for something All it is Endless directions circling back on themselves with insanity [Crawling through the mud] Reaching nowhere (Coming home) (Empty handed under penumbra and crow’s-nest) [All consuming] But (if) I ask you, (If it is not beautiful) (Then) what [else] is (it)? How would you know the difference? How would you know anything At all? The best creations are those that mimic reality I bear their crest; molded pockmarked Into the waxen moon of my back Under the black mantle of your skies; Lies a Dying flame in your oceans The creased edge of a cliff’s slope; the [cragged dagger in the] vorpal torch of a pocket knife Chopped heads like the rolling of beige waves Wound in shallow flowers Folding themselves into me I am my own symphony I am epitome of [widowed chisels’ sigil of] whittling idiosyncrasy Now watch as the ichor bleeds As the whole world tumbleweeds’ phoenix[es] In the wickered lips of rippling viscus eclipse Beginning in symmetry Ending in irregularity Along Saturn’s sands of calamity Bending tempests like unearthing serpents Like burgundy murmurs swirling in pearls of sterling Continuing down the road Into the symbols down the line Into the cymbals in my mind Redesigning spiralling in the ire of violet kaleidoscopes groping like an ocean; Of clovers and posies roaming the coves of efflorescent incandescent Destiny’s ecstasy in inseparable effigies; deafening bethels bleed in swollen rollercoasters Meshing with the precipice uplifting in the helium balloon of a full moon A life’s sentence scrawling beyond the andromeda of comprehension Pencilled within my pretzelling limbs Like the crescendo of cemeteries’ buried in wings embedded infringed in the web of a nebula; Magenta penitentiaries wedging the arpeggios of archipelagos Molten with the revolt of opals incorporeal like an orange corridor of phantasmagoria In the jagged light of a scythe of lightning strikes; Whitening the dim string of rivulets’ ventriloquist Within the silver of bougainvillea in the shrill lilies of resilient brilliance Etched in maleficent frescos meshing ecstasy in effigy Continuing [our prison of rhythm etched indefinitely in linen prisms of cataclysmic] infinitely In syncope Tell me What is love Without hatred Do you know the answer? Does it even matter? Words standing in the line of a sentence Like wrinkles following across the oil painted face of a cliff; Falling out of place, notes like fingers on keys; Hands on pianos melded together in the melodies’ feathers; (now and forever nevermore) The light tapping of alabaster Fastening tapestries of taffeta from the string; Pulled by the prose of a maestro Composing oceans with the twig of a amygdala; Stygian rivers that quiver in the dance of a thousand hands We all go through periods of darkness After sentences brought to light And this? [It] Is all I know What is love but another form of discrimination? What is hate, vengeance, angst, anger But unity? Scouring the beach for every grain of sand You say, Do we not know one another? But I ask you, How would you [not] know [me]? I was born gathered within the waves that dot the horizon I was born from this For this Look at me What do you see? I have never known otherwise I am this thing This monster This sandcastle in low tide And these waves have battered me; [flayed my skin with their caverns of jasmine cashmere] Taken my pride with their wide arms Their false smiles For the last time You, me [The tide] [Creeping in and out] Holding on till letting go Again [And] Again [And] Again <[(Crashing cardiovascularly)]> <[(Until the wind of words carries me away in a world of magnolias)]> <[(Like the whispering of dried out grasslands)]> <[(With a mistral of bristled blissful fistfuls of mithril abyssal mephisto)]> <[(Thistle like asteroids)]> <[(Thick with the chrysalis void of primordial foliage)]> <[(Soiling the ground with a poplar’s crown in vows of amalgam;)]> <[(Flowers and boughs that palisade against the fallen grey;)]> <[(Pomegranate fae;)]> <[(Ambiance in glades laced in the clay dilapidation of polymerization;)]> <[(Waves of regurgitating inferno)]> [(In the vertical churning concerto; ferns of surging metallurgy; burs of merging uncertainty)] <[(Blurring thaumaturgy’s currents of serpents)]> <[(Warped in the orchards of a fortress of chlorophyll)]> <[(With the oracles that push and pull and wax and wane)]> <[(Into ink-stained craters)]> <[(Like cracks in the lacquered grasp of alabaster)]> <[(Behind the wall(s) of Apollo’s vibrato)]> <[(Earth, wind, water, and fire)]> <[(Are we anything but this? )]> <[(Anything better)]> <[(Than this?)]> <[(The colour of surrender as it bleeds through a treated canvas? )]> <[(The sound that mouths cannot dare learn to shape? )]> <[(The touch that leaves you numb and naked)]> <[(The taste of angel’s tongue not sacred)]> <[(The smell of life as it reaches up from the dirt like a man from an empty coffin in nape of?)]> <[(Eventually)]> <[(Waiting to be)]> <[(Dead, and forgotten)]> <[(Everything)]> <[Will be lost in time)]> <[(Everything)]> <[(In a single rhyme)]> <[(Everything)]> <[(We left behind)]> <[(We are not remembered)]> <[(Not forever)]> We are both on the brink of divide Between island shore, beach and tidal wave; roaring an echo of constellations’ conversation Segregated grains of sand Who do not know the shore, the porcelain beach shattered into a million sunsets In the black night where Shadow crept from between the banter of lanterns Who do not understand the sea and the sky Or the rocks that glint like splintered scintillation procreating maelstroms’ culmination The knifes of cliffs against the cutting-board of primordial Currents of water, air Where the celestials press themselves in velvet of flowers in the gallows malleable The black dahlia, the white lilac Polymer’s menagerie cauterizing horizons in the empty palms of our volumes; columns of psalms They will not tell you But I will We do not understand; we do not wish to {You may stand out, stand alone, by yourself, no one} {But even children learn to walk} {It’s good to be what we are} <[(But/yet still; {here} we are; lost)]> <[(Caught like prisoners in the spiders web, the labyrinth between our two blind-wire minds)]> Always too ready to die, to crush our enemies by hand Instead of to learn, or to live, to smile with our sharp teeth <[(Unable to let go)]> Unable to hold on to anything Trampling the corn maze in hope for answers and redemption; an assemblage; In the disarray of the colours it bathed itself in Sitting/standing here like a breathing canvas Trampling each other in the process Paint peeling into flowers Warping orchards like wallpaper ripped from the flesh Exposed tissue hardened into knifes edge Sharper than the crescent moon And we are no better, no different, at all
Cold
Running waterways (menagerie) That gallop (sprinting splintered) Through the forest of dead trees Tripping, falling; over the edge of my mind like a knife; Perpendicular to the end of the lengthy path ahead Someone has to Someone has to, when no one else will (smell the roses) When no one else will plant their fists To open them like (a) flower(s) Placed between the roots of teeth; Gardening words shaped by amorphous sun; Formed in the mouth of a corridors boarded up with (the crack of) a smile (Like broken bottles [of glass in an elevator shaft]) Ripped from the face of the earth like fabric from a flag(post) The fields will be empty Faceless Formless Grey mornings on the fringe of twilight But never reaching it, (quite yet) Leathery arpeggios of poinsettia edifice the distant eclipse Deifying the bloody clutter of butterflies Winding spirals in the Nile’s spinal caramelized horizons Widening in the dilating lilac ivory Of wireframe messiahs meshing incandescent With the leftover precipice like Nephilim In the wreckage of every vessel’s decibel In the breath of lactescent sepulchres Where we buried the moon stretching strewn in bioluminescent ecstasy Ballooning out of proportion (orifice) like a (fuming) contorted formless organ of metamorphosis (Fortresses) Sketched in the iridescence like a fermenting centipede; Wreath of onomatopoeia like a speleothem of cathedrals Like dodecahedrons reeling themselves in From somewhere below the swimming photosynthesis of rhythmless skin Like obsidian oblivion adrift (Figures digging through the rigging of spriggans) In the crystalline lithium of mithril precipitation Rinsing (sympathy) in the chrysalises of rippling flickers promiscuous conifers (Symphonies on the brink of idiosyncrasy) Like the bonds of constellations; [opal broaches] Embalming ensembles knotting andromeda around the rocky apocrypha Lost to phosphorus in the neck of the woods Blossoming (coffins like) lozenges Cornstalks, [broccoli] ambrosial And posies in the soma of apotheosis Wickers of glyphs in efflorescent dresses; Guised in the highlands of a butterfly’s island Writhing and subdividing like a blathering labyrinth of javelined amethyst Within the crystalline abyss in an avalanche of lanterns Dancing entranced by the night-lamp chrysanthemums In terpsichorean amphitheaters Like elysian cedars of river reeds dreamless In disheveled revelations Ghettos of meadow’s bevelling umbrellas Cellos’ bellow of parhelion’d melody Relics of the yellowed balconies melting in the mouthing of elegies Evangelical skeletons quelled in the interstellar propeller of archipelagos Tethered in the letters sweating from the settling sun Where mountains trounce falcons with their buried wings of vicarious hymns With their faces in their hands like star-spangled banners Windswept memories like dying coal In what was once a fireplace; now shell, empty, husk of corn; Chamber licked bare of light, or love, or anything I left it all behind; just to crawl through one more (Stiffening, lucid) moment (of agony, of bitter cold) Their faces; featureless, their love; hostile, unforgiving, saviours to the Nothing Of all that I know Screaming without love Ears of corn, (in viscus form) listening (to the fluid incongruity), Briskly to the brushstrokes of my hands, my fingers, Scraping at the walls To taste the dusty cobwebs left behind The sound of the sickening flickers Through my diluted neon eyes like a spider-child; Arms wide; grasping Nothing Caught in the web of lies that knows no truth Caught in the merry go round of stillness Caught in the act of knowing Nothing Told to forget Told to be better Burnt, crisp; crushed into bouquets once jade in marmalade of crumpled pages Under layers of (soot), Charcoal folding in on itself Consuming everything (inside out) [White flame, dark night] No longer Cold
Castle In The Jigsaw
[(If my heart will someday have been opened to the sun)] [(I hope it will have changed for the better)] The moon will wear its blouse of parhelion Until the sand castle crumbles Into dust Exodus And memory I am only what you made of me Only what I made of you Cracked vase you are now; splintered pencil; dull edge of a knife I (tremble, guilty, but) remain(ing) whole; in oneness with myself Touching every piece etching itself into the white lithium The yellow page Of the moon (glistens apparition in its hemlock assemblage) (Lost on a cross of gravatas anchoring sacrosanct in its tumultuous penultima[nce]) (Faultlessly convulsing silken wilting in umbilical willows) (Among amaryllis pillars in pillowy vermillion and stilling trilling from the infidel’s citadel) (Windowsills of villages like trilling capillaries) Grooming its luminous pockmarked skin in craters of raven cadence Wearing its finest blue dress (The way the stars are) Fitting her(, the way the wrinkled frills speckle in my eyes with light) Asking her back into the crannied nook, The ocean of wickers Bricks of River Styx The crawlspace under the stairs of my heart Heaven is far above my head Perhaps love is a place I’ll never see In a hundred million years of empty I forget the tempo that that left me trembling; now hollow, shell, husk Because I am blind to the emotion; only to see the logic, only to see the flower, admire the bloom (That) You gave me I tore the roots, shredding, from the page The pointless nothings that once meant something more I take the dry tusche and flood the sewer drains with watercolour ink coming on like a downpour From the bedlam’s of dishevelled efflorescence Upon the still world of tie-dyed kaleidoscopes Frayed and torn by the hands of fate, I write your name the same way I would my own As I build myself up The pieces of you fall apart And I can no longer fit Your hand Into mine As the stars return to nothing As the moon hides its face from me As the sun watches with satisfaction The dying shadow of what was Is burned into these eyes Closed off from light By the time I came out of the darkness to see the world after you again; After the moon descended back into my iris; disappearing dismantled Ramming against the anvil of dandelions (You fall apart inside only to rebuild the walls of muscle from below the continuum of skin) (Fortified bone like mortar, sandstone inside the chains of veins like elephant tusks) Lost in the socket, bulbous and florescent as a crescent’s effigy in the bethels’ sleeves of Elysium It was nothing but cruel And blinding By then; I was already a man Nothing more than a calm storm that blew past the fringes of innocence I knew nothing more than my own ends Cast off by the shadow of you Nothing more than a weeping willow A man like you following in your footsteps Keeping the sun from reaching where it shouldn’t With it’s wide and indiscriminate arms Who knew that those who are haunted by a familiar love Learn to hate Who knew that those who yearn for peace through fear Fight in the deadliest of wars Who knew that those who fall from grace Write with such elegance, (Streams of words crawling shadows through their incandescent veins) (Marred against the walls) (Up on the stairwells) (Who would even think) That their words could lead into heaven at the end of a line (As if each word carries weight, patchwork of past sacrilege, enough to bleed for, to die for) (Just) As if they know their way back from the abyss That took them in their barred hearts in the first place With their eyes closed (Unforgiving oblivion; meadows on evangelical archipelagos that envelop in yellowness ravel) You say the furnace of light is more inviting than the casket of dark? Softer than the bed of stars and wildflowers? As if It is only in the dark That I can imagine the ends and the means Of my dreams It is only in the dark That those who live blindly Without direction Without faith, and without love Can see Before the morning Brings reality Into view It is only in the night That those Who bring the baggage of days past Can be free It is death that invites life And in life, death has scarred me so But I know that in this age-old jigsaw In the autumn’s bottomless well of (crest)fallen leaves No longer Will your hand Fit in(to) mine
Yet Still
And yet still [(I paint the world in my favourite colours)] Hoping for something more I fool myself (Into believing) (In you) (Somewhere above) (Starry eyed) (And not just dead) (Like the rest of them pilgrims of silence) (Not just a scar) (Crossing the abyss of my heart) (Dipping below the surface) (Of the wickers of lithium Styx) (Of salvation) (Capsized in my Nihilism) (Drowning in my breath) (A memory) (I am but) (The cinders you left behind) Am I nothing But a fool? Unable to read What’s already been written by you, etched into me Across the whites of my eyes An orchard of now With no flowers of then to reach through my pupils and touch fingers with the spark within But these empty eyes These sights that leave me blind to the drawling present and its incandescent fresco Only to see the past and its sigil of old bones Everywhere I look I remember when my eyes still remained Wide and indiscriminate I saw nothing Yet thought I knew everything It all comes back To me now Caving in on the stars like a carved wooden dock; beaten into decay by relentless waters kind A glass ceiling; murals of the ethereal dance of gods on the graves of angels (Due) To a single pebble skipping across the infinite divide (scintillating) between water and sky On an endless beach Filled with no more than but one grain of sand Angry enough with the world to stamp over them all with muddy feet Vowing to swallow up the ocean whole As if it had never known infinite from infinitesimal As if it had ever heard the names that lack the harbour of an ear’s canal; capsized vessels As if the dirt was not death itself breathing life into the grasses of Ashland, spanning botanical (In pointless debate with Valkyries) Or (across pastures black, skies white, and clouds grey) (Angels, over the trivialities of death and renewal or better yet) The right from the wrong As if it were anything other than salt licked from the earth Before being driven back into the churning swirling sterling of the sea (Pointless) (And hopelessly so) Yet still (Across pastures black, skies white, and mountains grey) Across shores origami, beaches inkblot, and clouds of spilt whiskey In its beginning’s end (bending the hands of clocks into a downwards spiral of fallen angels) (Stranded and) Standing there (unlucky dice) Alone (In a shell among a crowd of billions) (Static white noise, tenebrous echoes of black night in a swirl of sun and moon grey) (As my mother’s eyes) (Footprints in the sand like disappearing stars) (Washing up like dead fish (up)on the shores) (Blending into mundane) (Into effigy) (Into stillness) (Yet ecstasy) (Triviality) (Sacrifice) (Alone) (And waiting) (A frayed flower petal) (Lost in the winds of rewinding time’s kaleidoscope) (The nectar of each maleficent precipice) [(In hectares of crescents delicate delectable efflorescence wrecking each sepulchre)] [(Vessels of desolate bethels where the fledglings of magenta surrender;)] (Swishing lithium Styx whispering glyphs of ellipsis and crucifixion in lucid fuchsia’s crucible) [(With words (not unlike loaded die,) leading into heaven at the end of a line)] [(It will be remembered)] [(In every moment)] [(I will remember it)] [(Until the memory smolders)] [(Imprints itself)] [(On my tongue)] (Touches every word I speak) (Forever) (Or for now on) (Planting itself, painting itself, singing itself) (Into me) (For this love was real) (Fleeting) (And sublime)
© 2022 R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)Author's Note
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4 Reviews Added on February 26, 2022 Last Updated on May 17, 2022 AuthorR.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)Burlington, Halton, CanadaAboutMost of my poems can be differing lengths depending on the time you want to spend reading them. You can avoid reading anything brackets, or read it all. If you want an in-between, you can read only th.. more..Writing |