A Cold Numbness Embraces a Sojourner in Mourning (Some Days Feel Like:)

Dreams castrate the young of ambition,

whisking troubled thoughts away, implanting

euphoria in the place of realized contrition—

Doom is the only premise left unexplored,

when traction disengages the neurology

abandoned within those predestined to starve upon their own needfulness

Feral qualities sliver thin the mirrored gaze,

leaving the only interpretation the imagined

predisposition that reincarnates the deformations of the brain

Catatonia is preferable to the self-imposed restraints

that fit snugly beneath the seam-lines of our favorite

Clothes, leaving only the scents of wherewithal and apathy to fragrance one's ephemerality. 

Shredding the fetters of the past is the only absolution we can deliver truthfully.  Tiny renderings are the adipose reflections we blindly flee from, layering the tornado with a future sconce illuminated by the abandoned renderings of debris.

And then, other days, feel like nothing at all…

Exhaustion as Navigator

Window cracked- 65,

     In what seems, like 30’s

The likely capped end-speed

Portent subdivisions, split,

by lines afar, glowing

pastels covet night, flickering

cast of moon’s radiant height—a quivering

amends the harbinger’s sight, clashing

with one’s wherewithal, as fate

relates akin—rapturing a lost fight’s sanctioned state—

unto the parallelisms, the shifting lines, the origami structures built within

Belladonna, blissfully close, eyes arrest, encaged

again, by the prematurely postured dream—

Relishing the happenstance of SRO’s unmitigated stance, especially since promotion’s long since been scrubbed and left to chance—

Of an ignorance indicting slow, the plausible power of the spreading word

         Angular brickwork, to which the conscience swerves, observing the bedrock that’s home to such machines abandoned—to rest, in limbo, beneath a starless sky—yet the signs and signals warn still—to which you question, not the thought, but the belief that they’re awake with you this stretch of night

Escape though you shall, untagged and free, breaking away from obstacles seen, unto an open space of asphalt’s generous creed—

drifting behind a steady coaster, oblivious to what time’s been spent— watching the horizon spread aglow—

 The lines flashing in fictitious streams, brokering this big city’s life, offering, but another grail you’ll never know, if this sleep continues glimpsing through it’s deadly flow

To which forcibly you pry ajar, the lids betraying you now…in the deadliest of subtle drips a-glance, accosting the reality forming it’s surreal syndromes allured, upon such corruptible states,

You are broken, you are weak…the knowledge is fierce…this straight-line will not stitch together seams, instead incomplete you’ll quickly see, as song’s blare quickly collapse, broaching caution’s warning once more—

As this slippage begins to fray apart, focus weaves and warbles timid slow, breaking into waves of rhythmic flow, careening lullabies the screaming child in you seeks, and through this and other forces unrecalled, fade you swim, out from and into such seas of unanswerable melodies

 A quick purge pronounces shock,

In quick flashes you are not convinced

This is not but a continuance of some

Severe reel of dream—playing, deadly games, the deadliest of larcenies…. where the mile markers indicate just how far you’ve travelled since, the last wince aware you were

And before the curtain calls again,

You know where this path must now go,

scanning the exits for

any inn with vacancy to spare, only

needing a door to lock, and a bed to

regenerate what’s been lost

is all you desire….exhaustion,

as navigator…there have been

worse guides

Non Sequitur of Humidity

listen to ‘Non-Sequitur of Humidity’ on Audioboo

A frayed rope stretches garage to gate.  Albeit brief this time of year…

Newly freshened clothes limps the midsection anew…while the gestation of the blowfly magnifies the carrion’s count developing in you

Caustically cantering throughout the heavy haze

Loping about, searching for the shade of tree, to pause, replenish and reflect. To pretend, a breeze caresses moist each sect of throat. 

Cracked-earth effusing illusory. Steam billows from cleaved swell, disseminating the delusory—a striating course, distracted only by a rippling boil’s thrift of pace—autonomically evoking predicated pants

Life exists in the open

Yet into the artificial we

Go, ironically…to live

A parched environs.  Nuclei’s confound coherence with understanding.

Allowing moments of sweltering sweat, to shackle our worn and fickle flesh. Sheaths of aridity distort the breadth of breath 

From pools within, without we’d be…like the dog with splayed tongue, unaware, just how temperamentally distraught a dwindling summer can appear…amidst the confines & cravings of unwavering, humid airs

Over at D'verse, Manicdaily is hosting Poetics, and has offered up the theme of Summer.  Stop on over, definitely read her excellent article, and then enjoy the Summertime fare of poetry presented by the poets at D'Verse.  While you're there, you'll no doubt get inspired to write a summer poem of your own.  After you do, link it up and share with the others at D'Verse. Cheers.

Razors in the Pillowcase

Exhaustion praises diligence

Of, he who rests his head,

Passing love-notes to those who clasp at comforters

Fawning over she, who lowers lids,

Time will pass during moments encased in the sand-man’s keep,

Rain could fall, ground may shake,

Luxury surrounds the captive

While mythic figures multiply,

Bowing in subservience, shedding homage for the breath they take,

Requesting permission for enemies to hunt and slay,

The cock then crows and lights pierce through,

Blinds and curtains,

Drapes and darkened tint,

Masks to wear or veils to cloak,

None shall survive when facing the break of day,

Inevitability is alive and inevitability always gets its’ way,

The mind shall leave pleasures wrapped,

To return, perchance another glance,

For now and every time hereafter,

Like razorblades within a pillowcase

As fate dictates, the flesh shall awake.