Wednesday, August 14, 2013

The Tangent Dream Of The New-Age Scorpion

CON-descending Lullabies
PRO-tracts unto the counter measure of design
ANTI-trust collaborates itself apart—in a metric reclusion
IN-vested by doppelgangers, the ever hungry thirsts the truth
Where only OUT-bound principles coagulate in exaggeration
Proving that greed and supremacy are both equally capable to OVER-whelm, OVER-riding even the most pure of minds.

Sycophantic and alone
Chrysanthemums atop invisible bone


She’s got me all tied up
She’s got me whole
She’s got me to the point
That no one else will do…
To where no one else could ever know
The consistency of deviltry entangled deep inside

She’s got me tied up in a mercury apron
Magnetically pronged by unquenchable tines

There’s a weather shift. It’s shaving back the sirens,
Casting disgrace upon the prophets lost
In that (some) other place, where (some) different crimes,
Caustically taint what grows on sinewy vines…casually commingling beneath this vagrant moon

She’s drawn me in, like a candle does the wind
She’s dragged me through, both the mire and the blame
Whittling away the hours and the cold of afternoon, crafting an otherworldly scene…where a sense of withdrawn eyes remains—housed in sham—caressed by the lonely shroud that is a mind detained

With intense feelings—harbored thoughts grow uncovered—
Reflections unravel into mindsets we oft deem forever lost—
Entrapped, encrusted, upon a web of fluctuating light—transforming shadows into abandoned works of art, ever dangling from gaudy structures that bleed divine—

Now knotted, twisting awry, now dwindling…the snaps that turn askew—leaving me unknowing, what next my heart should do—warping all the wisdom, engraving each a hue that’s yet accrued…where each variance of color can only be found within her…in those kaleidoscopic eyes of paintings unexplored.


Nasty skein—wooden cage—comfort blanket, doused in saline—and the board retracts, as the crowd looks on, waiting for the final hook, (one) for the last breath to breathe upon


Amidst a future in faltered frame
Amidst a frantic amalgam of extraneous design—
Bearing fruits for the witch and warlock—itching, pining, for more and more

Waving their wands, sprouting smoke, contorting piranha
Whereas the amberjack calmly swim beside the sharks

In synchronized waters—blue yet black not quite red…as often the case can become—when observance becomes analysis before the sinking mixture delves through pore

And what time may soon one day become—the theories of the skeptics may also arise—giving back, only the finality of applause


Disreputable, white flag unclean—Dingy little mutt, sniffing out where the waves drew back from

Unwavering, courage placates the deepest dream—A comatose refugee breathes new life—anaesthetizing the air that dwells deep within

Worlds… adrift in slumber—are fleeting now—away…departing from…unbecoming shades of green…residues that shan’t move…while yet the consumption continues—as is true in most realms dreamers often go— leaving only substandard effectiveness and varicosity of growth


Ignorance. It commands the faith of soldiers—polarized by the egotist’s unconscious scream—the orders engineer amnesty for the swollen templates fed to swine—this is the sketch that is left outdoors at night.  This is the torn-out page, from those books our children color from.

It is much easier to commandeer a jackal at dawn, when stardust has yet repealed the lid of eye. It is much harder to stave off the apocalypse, if the flesh remains a proper distance from well done.  Soured certainly…yet edible to none


Spearheading the charge is the overarching romantic. Ignorant of the indemnity that tyranny speaks and spreads about.

Equally blinded are the swarms of anarchy that seem so fittingly applied to an individualistic state where pegs appear disjointed and mangled alone—it is in these moments, within such proclamations of spirit, that wholeness is bludgeoned by exhausting treasons—fears cast about internally—so easily slung about in epochs such as ours—

What a pity, truly…
To daydream of the sky,
While holed up deep inside
Remains entombed the light…where to go, what to do…


No comments:

Post a Comment