Waking up from a Coma

Flogged by one's own penance
A penitentiary,
A prism
Of shifting cadavers (who just haven't been informed)

Solstice
A journey along railed stair-edge
Folicular indemnity
along rotted jade stones embryonic TENS

SHOCKING

To awake
Effeminate
Castrato
Exit past lives
and wounds reheal


Scavenger
Only up to no good
Always betting on the under
In this game of robin hood

This flesh
Feels very accustomed
These bones
Seem as fragile as they ever have
The eyes still flicker as they envision
The flavor to the scents you've so often imagined as beautiful

But…

Something different is present
There is a subtle difference in atmosphere
And an inexplicable change in circumstance

And…
I look into the mirror
And notice something completely out of place

What's that?
Is it…?
Why, yes I do believe it is?

That must be what they call a smile

It feels good
Yet why does a slight discomfort twill the flesh below the eyes?

Note to self:

This new person will take a little time to adjust into, but the hopes are as high as they've ever been.

But still, I wonder how could this be?

Absence of Vision

There is an absence of vision

Posited before the eye

There is an apparition

Friendly, yet denies

Daylight

Borrowed

Aura’s penance

Reluctantly

Allows

The absence to pass

Can a fever charm a smile from an automaton?

Can tips feel, once severed from their sanctity?

Can a tactile sting, surge permission, to limbs, only ever knowing, numbness of permafrost?

As I step upon the Checkerboard

I. Acacia

Invariably-with precision of motive- I venture,

Undoubtedly, athanasia exists-

My perpetuity of indulgence-

Peering, and with each trespass—

Vision forgets all semblance of time, proffering ethereality

In syllabic serenade, a soiree of combinatory collectiveness enhances:

Those aqueous aphorisms of belief,

A childlike joviality invoked anew,

Through a singularity of symbiotic parallax—

Albeit syncopated— Cosmic alliances skirt past the doubting fields—

Dancing, freely—

To metronomic missteps of expressiveness—

Assiduously seizing each- as if, through perceived telemetry alone—

The spices intrinsic to vitality, transfer apperceived

In as such, your world—

Intersects with mine.

II.  Ashlar

Every cast of smoke, perspicaciously detailed

All sparks from stone—flint or scythe-

Ignites a widening of eyes—

Stock Gnosticism skewed—

As the perplexities of an individualistic mindset—

Appear in twin—

Where Dogmatic phylum’s mirrored in.

III. Blazing Star

Like whirlpools of vapor, swirling

A maelstrom of pedagogue, ellipses cosmic void,

Shrapnel steals the heavens, along catenary lines—

Disintegrating the abscess of doubt—with conviction.

Didactics change.

IV. GAOTU

Conflagrations echo, rousing infundibulum’s dormancy

Vesuvian terror illumes—fusee, Congreve- striking match.  Inciter of—

Pompeian strategy.  Expatriated-the troubadours of consistency—

Ashen in their faithlessness, volcanically scrawl mementos for failure’s future-formed duplicitous indoctrinations—

All as- architectonical gyrations thrust dimensions forth—

In exaggerated artistry—a formula forgotten, renewed.

V. Trestle Board

Eternal chords, sung,

To the tune of gemstone—

Divined by elven mystics,

Mimetic verve trysting with preconception’s curse

In masonic fervor—

Construct, in diagram—

Equations for methodology—

Interlocked.  Patterned weave

Interpretational anonymity—

Birthed to live free.

VI. The Brides Chair

Eureka. 

Three. Four. Five.

Extrapolation Nine. Sixteen. Twenty-Five.

You use what you’ve been blessed

A mind. So beautiful, that a word,

Would suppress- the perfection of angularity

That your verse-in write (sic), inherently bridges heart to hypothalamus to cerebrum to cerebellum to synapse.

 Brian's hosting Open Link Night over at D'Verse.  Doors open up at 3pm.  Stop on in for some poetic perusal and while entrenched in the festivity, submit one of your own.  Cheers!!!