Synchronized Utopian Idyll

It was a dynamic inquisition,

Without a single word misspoken,

It was a dynamic synchronization,

Where not a word went unspoken,

                       Inspiration doused me full,

                       Caressed me and kept me still,

                       Drenched head to toe,

                       But in the end, not a soul would even know

It was a dynamic inquisition,

Without those awkward moments of intervention,

Not an abstraction spun; not a vice untouched,

It was a masterful interjection,

Where only a pause disconnected being from breathing

Where only the pause separated hear from here,

As time progressed

I felt red to have previously guessed

Things would’ve gone differently than they would,

Thinking there’d be an intense transition

As I waited for the lies to come

     But they never came, nor ever could

     Not a lining torn or a truth made of elastic

     It was the deepest of revelations

     As each question produced an answer,

     Where each sound to slip away beneath parched tongue,

     The more it continued, a voiceless man I therein became

And you somehow understood, you somehow understood things about me, that even I couldn’t comprehend

        

                  To have been given so much respect

                  From someone I could not have ever known

                  To have been treated like an equal,

                  From someone filled with so much devotion

                  Giving me the honor of unparalleled recognition

                  Those words, those words—

Could only serve as stones—thrown

Across such stillness—skipping forever on and on and on—

Until we each found our Om

In whatever it was

That circumstance just happened to have

In this space most precariously spun.

A Fraudulent Decay

Inspirations

For an otherwise

Uninspired world.

Stagnation mates with ennui,

Trigger offends frame.

Desperation reeks of fear

Grinning in contempt

Decay

We all do

Some late, some soon,

Some in peace,

And then there are the others,

Those that will eventually find themselves

Prematurely exhumed

Or dispatched as they’ve lived,

A fraudulent canvass is a canvass nonetheless

Pine Box

listen to ‘Pine Box’ on Audioboo

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