Gaia Hypothesis

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A zephyr’s kiss, of gusts and gales,

slowly strips the suffocation

from a mid-march air

A cloistered cache, evinced

of polarizing vespers—found strung,

tied within a vanguards gate

Harbingers of a typecast trichotomy,

bred to enunciate meaning behind the

grammars, masticating upon wisdom eschewed

Angels laced in iron-wrought

spiral indecision, sidling tween

walls, vaults and seam

The cost an artist pays

endowing life unto each

his renderings

Lucid posterns—unhinged

by premeditative discrepancy—

release the encrusted panes

Onyx painted Oriels—jut in cantilever

supporting cornice and balcony

amassing all which jalousie would not let glow

II.

Where ravens spite elocution’s cause

smiting foundations teem in gaze, as

vociferates travail miasma’s stygian haze

Of beleaguered artisans—indentured

and accosted by, philosophies buried deep,

within the fissures of an unripe mind

Burnt by reactions—forepassed, bygone—

already in the apertures, ever-afflicted

by assiduous decline

Emotive assailants inaudibly defined,

by repeals bound asunder to both

infinite space and burrowed time

While piercing deep the flesh, simply to feel something,

newborn talons scar

what attrition’s left to be tamed—

And as the chasm sprawls, its untenable vortex

spreads wide and vast—until ouroboros forms first gasp;

 a beacon, indicating that soon, the future will become the past

Blind To Periphery

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Blind to periphery

Deaf to anything emitting estranged lips—

Hunting for verbs when a plethora of consonants writhe intangibly by the weeping wounds concealed by striated grief—

Feral and straying from the path that light guides feet towards—

Ignorance of enigmatic gates, ignorant of the ellipsis of never-ceding fate, you crumble softly upon the shield of those that fell first, in a shining misperception of self

Non-stop layovers

overstepping functionality

of shapelessness. Forms and

fragmentations sympathetically

frighten systems ever

skewered by the partitions

that stir connections between enmity and the ingratiated—

ever arching and over-reaching

spans and sprawls of doldrums

constructed solely to offer control 

to otherwise distortional groups of experimentation

that when sung, embellish all that’s pretty and pure,

creating caricatures too severe to ever be considered

anything more than pseudo-speak—

relationally inept monstrosities

 remotely kept to score the sensations of relations

as to what is, and bound to be necessity—all

too often these pronouncements purge within, the waves and turns

forever tumbling through the tumults in our acidic wake

When you are alone, the internal monologues

never seem to die—instead

words and dialectical compositions

continuously loop back and about

awry the confusing preambles retort—

triangulating the precipitation upon the brow,

and then appears, the invisible degradation, the corruption

of motility, the vagrancy of ability, in flux stasis, gyrating in solitary

confirmation, lens of laughter, peering at you through the shafts of radioactive thought processions, creating, haunting

the cyclicality of mood irrigating all paths to come, all ruts we’ve succumbed from.

Good Ole' Boy

I got a four-door Silverado, and it’s painted black,

Just a good ole boy, detailed front-to-back

Rambling rebel,

Freeway, ninety-to-hell

My flag’s a-been a flying way up there,

About, in that dusty air of my rearview

The fun don’t start a-playing

Till’ you get them rollers stirred

Off-road, on-course

Mud-flaps, of course,

Spinning out and jumping mounds

This damn beast here can do so much more than drive

Branch and bark, part the path

When they see my grill, Chrome’s a-come hunkerin’ down

Trouncing brush at dawn and trampling root at night

Nature coughs to my delight

I got a four-door Silverado, and it’s painted black,

Just a good ole boy, detailed front-to-back

 Just a bit on the lighter side today.  Ever since the Diverse Prompt about getting into the mindset of someone else, I've been doing a bunch of smaller sketches, most are steeped in the humor of personality, this is one of those.

Anabolic

The twists

upturned

Upheaval tense

Please, feel free- go again

It's a notion

Not a devotional

A pocketful of potency

With lines astral

Where cats and tigers share the photo book

And hunters sip moon milk with a couple of twins

Into barren voids, few tilled, far of fleas, from here to…

Are you libel?

Did you spit- intentionally nearly missing, still with fist waving?

Facial tics, one could clearly spell- of shoe polish in the nasal swell

Creatine crust-loaf of bread

Springs mountain dust- raven fly, 

Gotta be, have to see, keeping up to keep enough, pairing off to split the rift- soiling tomorrow for today- acme covered acne rain, sprout, sport, spruce, lift- is this going to be, another untold story, of should have's and could have beens?

Build it up why don't you? 

So you can tear it down again,

Hopefully one day

You'll have a story to tell

which might you have-

Yet fear one may,

It'll end up bad... 

Bound for Forgiveness

Thoughts are hidden,

So is intent,

A voice is external,

An outward expression of what’s inside,

A scream is visceral and dangerous

To heart and home, from tomb to throne,

And Jade is the smarter older brother, the color

Of the man who pretends,

It shouldn’t be easy

Until your vision is built, and passions aligned,

Some location, mid-rift of guidance and hope,

On which the sidewalk lanterns burn,

Slight, this even keel atmosphere seems to me,

With blades of green, ambitions hinder prosperity,

Tainted are the wild eyes, roving in a ginger walk,

Hidden behind pleasantry’s veil, choice words concealing animus

Another encounter bound for forgiveness,

Another promise which fails to last,

A triage mentality will only heal you once you’re harmed,

Ignoring the obvious, you clink your glasses,

Soon to drown in a milquetoast, drawn by hand