I.
There are some fairy tales purposely
forgotten
Masked
scabbard of the Interferon
Embark
me now! Harken deep!
Pincers,
heather-gray
residing,
in the chaos
of
the fay
The
scope, the breadth—
freshest
are the forceps of
wealth,
so forcibly inhaled
Squeeze
play…last to first
Squeezing…intensely
Rein
in the misgiven logic
harness
the bit displayed
bridle
order, offer reprieve
To
a day, unbeknownst, but veritably
In
a somatic state of disarray—
II.
Covet the uniform less distinguished
than the dignity displayed so
prominently upon the crest
One
must love
before
they hate
One must hate
before they can love
each,
alone,
flawed
and frayed—
destitute and drowning-in
a
parabola of valor
affixed and spent
dignified only
by
the wash and wring
In-together
refined
in the rough edges met/completely
blent/a
merger into one—mixing free—to
a
place once lost by me
III.
Music is built upon the foundation of
every emotion we possess. We should
carefully consider what melodies possess us full.
No
longer have we become isolated
no
longer has the interlocutor lost his tongue
proscription,
no longer in mask or shaded by
the
fear of what is laced within belief—
The
opposition grows unbearable
we,
haunt the fragments that cluster
in
despair—in perilous decree—
then,
will understand, will see….
all
that is alive in the make-belief
world
of inspiration found in song
IV.
There are some things we should never
wish for or openly accept without dutiful consideration.
Go
back forward
thirsting
greater
whet
for the knowledge never meant to sate—
hidden
amidst the decorations are the words
and
agility— of thousand-year-old invisible men
Where
ginger henpecks snarl forth
and
exaggerated bindings scoff retorts
Where
scarlet footfalls shed flaked skin
to
dais—ever raising until
gone
by
to
the sounds
of
sepulchral tones
fade…
faded…
fading
still…until
awake
you grow
resurrected
from
your bed—
of pebbles,
topping boulders of stone
V.
The bronzed veil of the squandered
dove
attracts our prey and walls the dam
from cracks that call…
Erosion
marks,
plated
tint
fireflies….alive
in glint
yet
such a flash, bears the seeds—
That
correlate the actions of fessing men—
directing
us to the locations where
Attributions
are all but lost—
where
even the squalors flee
this
pathetic excuse for symphony
Enter
the hyperstatic repository
built
upon the domino’s gradated sweetener
and
force-fed mortar—by the shaking hands of tankards
alive,
if only to cozen the salivation out from within…
pip
to pip it effectively simulates a contagion effect
Burbling
are the salivary dreams—
Of
cuticles brittle, where bristling trumpets signify
the
aloof designs for higher power
Impossibly
vacant, yet acting out…
solely
to manufacture a reason for
assembling….
A
sacrificial toolkit, intent on discovering
the
phantasms hovering, closely, near
Where
candor has played second fiddle to cowardice…
Now.
Vis-à-vis, brazen impudence stutters naught—
boldly
affronting the dignity dishonored by such weakening
strife’s…
VI.
If vision is the object of your desire,
then sight
shall presently appear…
But be forewarned
you may not won’t like
the images you are now to see!
The
reavers are coming—
reapers
and raiders, cannibalistic kin—
rising,
continuously, from infernal abeyancy
The
reavers are coming! The reavers are coming!
to
purge both blessed and cursed,
to
remind all and every
their
scourge and bane
Ensconced
abrasions quickly form,
from
sentient pockmarks to boils forged
The
reavers are here
to
burn the bridges built up high
The
reavers are coming
Please
pray and hide
Until
the strong and proud live freely unafraid,
The
results you see will remain the same
Until
the worst in man can come out,
To
produce the true fear buried deeply south
The
reavers will come and seek man out
The
ferel beasts will not relent
They’ll
destroy without regret,
producing
widows and widowers
along
their seditious course
The
youth are spared,
yet
only so the scars can breathe
the
foul memory
of
their death to come
The
reavers have never been defeated
never
a casualty to claim
they
come and crush
and
rattle calm
they
brutalize the damned
but
bow naught their heads
for
the countless innocent’s
they’ve
also slain
VII.
The Final Act is always the most
disappointing
Eradication
begins….
when we wedlock our sins
Masked
scabbard of the interferon
save
me now…
for I’ve lived a thousand years
and, as one might surmise,
the years have not
been kind.
I’ve never had to beg
so please do not make me now
Bear
me my golden veil
for without,
I
fear
this
reign
will
be short-lived
