Infants Amongst Mortal Fabric

We are all and only infants amongst the veneers of mental fabric, attracting disassembly and partitioning expansions

Of cultivating emblems of character—

We’ve been bred as monsters, deliberate and persevering,

Ignorant of only the appetites we’ve supplanted as we whet the gullets-unyielding path towards gluttony

Significant atrocities are dissolved by wanton blindness and the coercive language used by those voices chaotically attuned—voices which have been and always shall remain, a reflection of the debasing melody born within

DESIST the purge and CALM the seas beneath your storms.

TREAD for relaxed states; exhilaration breathes a crisper version than what typically expands our wearied lungs

And in the midst of cacophony, upon the din of tumults, a smile still gleams it’s graceful vow—a promise made to a brittle child, one whose scowls surfeited the aperture of imagination—and herein, that child is revealed again, for portent dreams have a way of coming true…

An In-exact Rendition of Analgesics Induced By Ill-Conceived Variations of What Once Was So Fondly Known as Histrionics

Vexing winter, culpable, equally

In each her ghastly appellations,

Pronounceable or not—

To annunciate, if but for a solitary syllabic

Representation, regardless of key, you are to

Feel, what flames writhe through her internally—

Slack-jawed, amazed, yet mainly from fear, each

Observation allowed, becomes a memory ruefully

Spent, in depreciative dissolve and disillusionment—

To witness is to feel, the snarling hooks paring clean

The canvas from its frame…watching as the paint, is apportioned randomly—stylistically similar, yet confusion, also has made and continuously makes such claims consistently…

In a manner of speaking, a cloud exhausts the oxygen, as the last breaths befriend an approaching maiden sent from afar, where her beauty alters, in waves, toggling between, asymmetric recollections, abused by a deepening lust, ignorant of just how representative grow the scars…

Hallucinatory amplification contorts the demonic vice grip that strangulation bestows upon the parted cleft of lost worlds reunited in forced mergers and therein reuniting the fallen with the spawn of Adam…

And in those first few unmeasured moments, to where the end began a sequence—one that illustrated the birth of abhorrence, and just how quickly a kingdom of infernality, could be created in such a place, as the most unbecoming of southern stalls.

Shivering…yet cold is not understood…

Enflamed and razed, but the coals are like rocks placed beneath a rill so quaint…

The shapes and forms would’ve continued their skew upon perception, if not for the blissful accompaniments, of which the heavens shawled down to comfort thee,

Guarded, even the worst of us garner the sympathy from family, even those we’ve shunned aside, turning our backs upon…for no father wishes, nor can bear to watch such depths of pain and suffering blanketed unkindly over the eternality of kin…

Such incoherent byproducts of this unsettled estate, a placement or tomb of state, which is that thing, so far removed from the vocabularies of what most, hopefully, can truthfully comprehend…

And when the worms covet what remains, you’d have been long since removed, and we will have then, long since parted ways…

Floating ethereally above, the vision grows smaller, losing its impactful proximity with each fluttering ascent of your downy-feathered heroines and apathetically devouring elves…

Yet still, you are encouraged to keep watching…for it is known, that only sentiments of unconcerned psychologies will confront you therein…as angels escort you to that place above, way beyond and far away from the defilements that ever so persistently remain determined to singe and sear any and all incoherent melody relegated to distaste, pain and all things wished invisibly felt…

And then…the shame of what once was, becomes again…a relic, a history untethered…bound no more, by the shell that for so long had bore your name…

Internal Cues of Approaching Storms

Fluctuations of mentality quiver the flesh.  Subtle tremors illuminate the core to its fundamental foundation.

An inward shift beckons, and from within we summon forth a siren’s song, one that will both infatuate and mesmerize all those parties indecently exposed to the inner workings of an assembly line that has yet to produce all that which it had previously promised.

Before a fever strikes, the initial beads of sweat begin their perspiration.  Prior to a sweeping illness, we take for granted what we have and how we utilize the blessings we’ve been bestowed.  But the sickness keys us into just how fortunate we truly are.  It contrasts daily life with a portrait of contrast that at first fills us completely with an embalming sense of fear.  Here, something as primitive as breath itself becomes a luxury, something that we swear to, something that we promise, if we are able to land on both feet, that we will never take such graces for granted again.

An itch upon the chin gives away the inner platitude of the

Sickness creeping, one that we swore in vain, an oath betrayed, a tapestry marred, by bitter triggers, sirens, smoking rings and gesticulations.  Here then, the twitches and tingeing tautness is overwrought yet well defined.

1…2…3...

Stylized. Chic. Logistically situated atop a precipice that has yet to peak. We are alive, fully functional, yet inherently winded.  We live as we live, ignorant and often ignored.  Flourishing in a sad derangement of philosophy, a tenor trembles, the trebles high, the bass is broken, and the backsides collide in slates filled by worthless plights. We are clustering in collapsible rings, and so the relics flicker to a new decree, instilled anew in 1…2…3…

A high-fructose dichotomy exists. The bling is sated on the side of outdated radio.  There’s an alto sax playing, a barometric drop a-glow with pressure. With the weather here who can know?  Forward marching so shall we go?  Alive, aloof, we are so disbelieving, always looking for that definitive shred of proof, without, it’s all but din and cacophony, a wasted sound spins in 1…2…3…

After and before, before and after, centers of attention, mid-points for disaster, high-strung, low brow, tensions mount, tackle box without bait, we can’t wait, we can’t wait, to be free, to be free, never begins in 1…2…3…

Hi-fi, new wave, Wi-Fi enabled sense of shame, a sentinel, vanguards of tradition take the fall, are decorated with blame, a livewire flickers in the rain, shocking, shocking, mounted atop the roof of mind, finding shelter beneath a tree, electrocution starts in 1…2…3…

a stack of smoke breaks free life’s soot, in stereo, in stereo…history beginning once again, do you believe, can you believe, streaming live in 1…2…3….

Algorithms.  Anomaly’s.  Stars, bars, lines and code, cracking, breaking free, a dynamic apostrophe relates in 1…2…3…

A variety of translucency bleeds light. A latent vibration echoes a shiver. Illustrations and details, set a sail as elusive, it is nature this is not conclusive.  The words are but representations of what could be. They are only symbolic remnants, ruminations of sound, shattering, stinging, stringing bolts together lightning fast, from which an atomic breeze is distinct…sparkling strong in 1…2…3…

Eardrums bleed with potential. Insinuations label the disturbed and mental, a domination of the populace speaks to the decibels herein found, loud and proud, pounding pavement without the soles of shoes ever once touching down to the stone of ground. Lies start their spree in 1…2…3…

Pride, mounted, jib to spar, cards dealt near and far, gonna let her ride, gonna double down.  With a bluff so strong, you’ll have to have the cards to match or else victories pronounced in 1…2..3…

A fire-fight on planet Nero, golden bricks amassing zero, half-life dwindling, flashing fast, quicker than a video blast, sub-cultured species, harnessed-reined, these are but men, yet still heroes of a different dream, sandman strikes in 1…2…3

Another place, another, realm, cast iron, zinc-plated, breast-plate smell. Glistening, gleaming shapes, photons, protons, electrons swell as a neuron’s beam berates us well, pattering upon the trip of wires, higher, higher, the pikes backed up, there’s no way out, doubting the magnitude of what has just transpired, anarchy.  Rioting in 1…2…3…

A turning zephyrs tail-spun wisp, whipping round, made to shift, retching trees up from root. The severed cracks spanning the ground, all is lost, nothings found.  In a place so high, like Kansas singing from the sky, Carry on my wayward friend, one day soon we’ll make amends.  Until then, the past must persist as long as our breaths still mist, gone again, gone again, marching orders coming quick, dialysis is pronounced, the bile’s thick, black in nature, mankind's sick, the bile’s thick, grey-black-brown-green cultivating this damaged scene, action cutting back in 1…2…3…

A serial apprentice in a frost-bit state, alleviating a pressure mostly high, it’s gonna blow, it’s gonna blow, anxiety trembles as tension grows, flames ignite and the tragic flows, every swiftly, ever long, the pastures are a plenty, the iron-work is not as strong as we thought.  We were wrong, we were wrong…our actions erred, our plots are lost, we’ve been caught, red-hands bleed green.  Disgrace curtsies in 1…2..3..

We twiddle our thumbs and hum our tunes, pass the buck and shoot the stag.  There are those that believe in life yet quickly opt for death. These are the yellow that we see, climbing so high up into trees, scared stiff like cats with claws exposing themselves in 1…2…3…

Little green men are arming up. They live below ground, underneath the craters of the moon, some live in fear, others change their gears, holding signs, praying to, whatever probes they will soon find.  Ineptitude reaffirming in 1…2..3…

A lulling gaze is cast, it shines down upon me and you, you and me, and there we are and here we see, a fallen society, reflected upon in 1…2…3..

Fear swims into and out of mind.  Some gets broken; some are bound. Some lose sight; others are slighted before ever being truly found. Numbing in 1..2…3…

 There is true evil in play. It does exist, in the arbors and the groves, in our biases and the hate that grows. It’s danger dangles in the wind, it’s hounds are hunting, the scent is strong, lost soon becomes found, humanity is digging their own plots to lie, worldwide evacuation begins in 1…2…3…

Shingled, shackled, neon sight, jingle, jangle, brilliant, bright, final, finale, fragments, finite, tragic flow, traffic flow, oh so slow, all have stopped to watch the world have itself a go, fireplugs, arsonists, jitterbugs are juking jabs and shuttling stabs, we are as one here in this plan, painful… pain, Houston called.  Problem’s been solved.  Another acronym bleeds another sign.  Abbreviations activate their launch.  They start the clock that’s ticking free. Countdown’s commencing in 1…2…3….

Fireflies in the sky, burning through the night, galactic tumults sure shine bright. The comet’s tail is trailing nigh.  See the ripsaw shredding through its test.  Violating it’s own principles for the camera.  So many are all too eager to show who’s best, itching to dominate all things in view.  Close your eyes and deeply breathe, this may get ugly in 1….2…3…

A conditioned response rings that bell. Sounding chimes, pealing well. The heat, it grows.  The sweltering spells a new communion steeped in heat.  In every nook a glutton hides.  In every shadow there lives a knife.  Greed’s apace in 1…2…3…

1 to 3

1, 2, 3.

One to two

Two to three,

all is changed, yet nothing has. All is through, all is done. Escape routes hatch. Eyes now see.  Eyes believe. What a view, what a view, yet never realizes, it’s simply the same sights they’ve always been accustomed to. Reframing stirs a new beginning in 1…2….3…

For all that’s happened, for all that’s been done, we can only pray something positive from this comes.  Hope commences in 3…2…1…