Monday, January 28, 2013

Inkwell Runneth Dry

A tornado haunts the wind stream

With a riveting polarity the torso is severed at the point of exemption.  In the midst of violent acrimony, the jagged lens of an anguished shadow reveres the shuttering flow of arithmetical limbs unadorned.  Upon a barren sunset, the tragic reminder of totalities betrayed, emanate, yet never emancipate, those demons harnessed to the tautest of sinew.

Razor blades showcasing their discontent to those of disconnected premises— preambles used to offer a free vial of gaslight to any outsider delicate enough to witness the upheaval anon and still remain focused as strongly as they are at the present moment. Oh, the afterbite!!!
Lifeblood changes when immersed in bubbling rivers of grief.
             Diagnostic postscripts remain unresolved.  This dilemma is for no reason other than a sudden, yet momentary lack of ink.  Consignation must unfortunately be delayed until the morning after the morrow.  Such contrivances and misgivings occur whence the inkwell runs dry.


  1. i hope then my inkwell never runs dry...that can get pretty brutal....smiles...

  2. Hope that inkwell can get filled back up soon, thankfully when one is a loon, it doesn't matter. That and a keyboard haha

  3. First stanza in partic. is replete with very strong, visceral imagery -- I winced a couple of times (which means you did your job well!). The metaphor is carried through v nicely