Monday, July 30, 2012

In Gelatinous Space

Of confitures sealing in the sweet
marmalade’s enduring quest for the conservancy
and the prompting of deliquesce—urging forth a fluctuation, setting still degrees of cogency—in thaw, until only trickling liquidity is left

It’s like the world’s been doused at first
and then drowned as its movement’s been rehearsed

And here, you find your entirety’s been smothered in pectin,
sluggishly plodding limbs throughout, the coagulating terrain
to which the self stirs silently about

Perspectives alter
as once steadfast points of view
diminish then dissolve, deteriorating
in the hesitancy you’re flailing within

Perspectives vary—from the numb to the decayed
stewards of thought, dream, surrender, then dream again,
seemingly all a part of something apportioned someplace that’s ever been above and beyond the ideals instilled by mortal hands

Ordnances are found, and in such hidden estates, we locate the
weaponry we’d forfeited many days ago

Preponderances accumulate in algid states
where what was deemed luxurious not long before
it stares you down, evangelizing the integral salience,
that’s always been deferred, yet never ceded its importance
to the very game you’ve claimed to, if not tame, then at least to have trained

Sludge, slag within coulees of expansive sight
oozing, seeping through scoria, basally encapsulating the prism’s light
arms, legs with their passions cooled
by embalmed gelatinous masks of glazing drook
ingratiating oneself to such confounded states of reality
wriggling, jiggling, writhing still, in a glistening sense of dream
porridge-like moments, inspiring deflation and its merry bands
of stagnant clans, coiling then collapsing, around, within, stifling drive and
breeding a yearning, for a solidity ever-after permanent in its stability

Bubbling becomes ever fixated upon the stories of escapade
dripping frozen space in timeless states of catatonic embrace
beyond the lips, chilling illustrations impart their never thawing
artistry—formed at the point of first gasp, forever indicating the escutcheons detailed embodiment of gelid finality  

Jarring Doorjambs

Ajar, the entry ways
elicit—spur the aching beds
of confessions seen within

The jagged frenzy spawned from staggered rhythms—pattern astringed fables of fates depraved—where the singular act of concealment—hide all our disjointed nightmares and vacancies—in a place reserved for and then burrowed deep within the individuality found apportioned by steps of dance—vagrantly strolling—through   windswept corridors and disheveled halls—
where lost landings rise—and then fall,
unto vantage points sustained in the tunes crafted from the
notes the shivering abandons there and then—

Appalling squalors build—by the bannisters of
Deconstruction, its every essence
filtrates throughout each the unspoken commonalities—
where untethered chains assist the binding spells

Garrisons and sentries
mark the gated sequencing—as
clotted entities plead their mournful songs
unfit for proper speech—and without an inkling of reprieve,
they bleed out in drips that seep, suffocating slow—and all of this finds its reasoning built squarely upon the foundations of echoes cast long before—where through the means of unknown strands, causalities appear, cuff linking you, out and because of the strange heredity that somehow pulses through your frayed and feeble artistry—and this all came to be pronounced, out of your very own predilection toward loyalty and all the renderings one such world view could suggest—where condensation bubbles from
deep within the internally prohibitive valves—locked, forever
upon the distinct flavorings forged by the self-reverential hands of  nepotistic pontification

Brackets are built, succinctly to stop-gap
the harrowing appeals of misaligned and
decentralizing forces—and are brokered solely to quell the flaring
distempers, too oftentimes layered in and by prideful construction—

Calamity, gagged by kerosene soaked tattered cloth—
stuffed deep into the gaping wound ever only offering
festering appeal

Fade for me my darkened dreamscape—as
no longer am I able to collect your escalating
         What once piqued the disgruntled interests of
a wayward child, has since grown apostrophized in it’s ever
soiling stirs that blend contaminating sediments into
thickening waves, where the necromancy of gelidness broods
afoul—leaving the composition unrecognizable—allotting only scars remain in view—sorted indiscriminately within loosely sealed mason jars that settle too near the shelving’s ledge  

Monday, July 23, 2012

Pine Box

Sleeping in a pine box
thinking about the other day
sleeping in a pine box
dreaming that this time
it’ll all turn out some other way

It’s sad how fast we deteriorate
breaking free, rotting unto the lost domains
unprepared for what will be claimed
we grow resigned in the mannerisms of loneliness and loss
where stagnating shards fragment and shape our future plots

Sleeping in a pine box
thinking about the others
sleeping in a pine box
all the father’s, daughters, sons and mothers

It’s amazing how things often come down
to the number of correct decisions we make,
the one’s we never would have made
if not for one mistake, often an accidental turn
we, at the time, deemed to be entirely incorrect

And we never would have had the opportunities
to live and to love, to bleed and to sweat
all those intangible emotions that
would not be available now, or
would not be available in the innumerable futures yet to come

But the erroneous turn we did commit
and the flaw will forever be remembered
when necessary, for sensorial exhumation

Sleeping in a pine box
thinking about the other day
sleeping in a pine box
eyes closed yet open, wide as they’ve ever stayed

And in these containers
we hold our cherished mistakes
as one would keepsake any artifact
that holds close the unmeasured meanings
ever available for conjuring crucial memories lost but never forgotten…in a pine box

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Crystallization of the Soul (Frostbite)

vacation’s peak
where the wilderness
reenacts the fates forged
by cryogenic rendering

Tennis racquets tripping toes
pressing patterns upon
the treads of snow

Wolves amass over the icy ridge
watching, waiting
for the submissions of untrained eyes

Frozen, under glassy shards
frigid little stings, so harsh, so very
persistent is its brittle bite

Eventually, when in a perpetual state of numbness,
the pursuit of warmth grows forgotten, somehow
arriving at the point, where frost and irrelevance mix 

Friday, July 20, 2012


Deep Saharan
unseen strain
breaking down
most every thing,
until, that moment
arrives once more,
when ably you’ll
open the mouth agape,
with the absolute intention
of drowning this arid state,
freeing the path to your