Iconoclast

If the strings to short

Extend the chord to make it long

         When a heart is torn

         A survivor’s returns     

         Stronger than it was before

Free radicals

Rapidly destabilize-

Frenetic copulation

Generating many more

Free-thinker

Backslider

         Revert to habits lost yet bold

                  Relapse to actions undesirable

Skeptic

Apostate

         Unorthodoxy filling plates

         To devalue what’s been great

         To diminish, divert and deviate

Abate

         The pieces that make you this way

         To take away, detractors

                  Rejects heretical

                           Reactive ruination of the piece

                                    Blind attacks upon the cherished face

                           Cynical rebuts, breaking molds with each tirade

Rebel, rebel

         Last single of the dance

                  A revolt against stylistic stance

                           A Bowie knife-

Into the hierarchy of a conformed romance

To be like lambs

I could follow with a reference to slaughter

Which would be suspected, perhaps expected

But then I’d be the same as many

Lost in a realm of less than plenty

Compromising my position

To allow the confines sealed for the countless more

Instead I’ll permit my thoughts to graze

In the open pastures of free range

Bucking trends, if so be seen,

Elkono + Klas+ Tes, an agent Noun, of change, which I’ve yet to determine if I’m so inclined, to allow a definition to occupy, the meaning of what I believe to be.

The Russian Doll

Layers peeled like potatoes fated to a distillery,

Skin shed, time upon fractured time,

The powerful enigma, the Omniscient Cantor

To his hymnals of forgiveness and forgetfulness

                The hand of the artist revolves in cyclical indemnity,

                Guilt layered youth upon elder form,

                Structure confined to intent,

                The artist struggles with his own contempt,

                                Recoiling like a cobra,

                                Tossed from wicker, disoriented in vision,

                                Senses ruffled by the vicious flute,

Artistic indifference, fails to cast the mold,

The smaller self emerges,

As the open-world then withers, in its’ traditional regards, falling like snake-skin,

Slithering past the point of coherence,

Pushing through the blankets of confidence,

Arriving upon self-discovery, self autonomy,

Through the disenchanted illuminations of sinful hints,

Like a Russian doll,

Another mold for society to bend.