Infernal Curiosity

Got an itch, got an itch

Fire-red brightly shines

Like a shock of culture in a

Numbing state—Quake

Erupt, embellish the truth and

Watch it rust, flash to dust

Watch it rust, flash to dust

Nightly neon, galactic dolls

Shake their triumphs down the halls

Broken record, playing loud

Blasting forward, dismissing sound

Got an itch, got an itch

Scratching the fever from beneath the skin

Digging deep, deep down in

Digging deep, deep down in

Flamethrower, nitro-sun, blazing bright, blazing bright

Elapsed inferno, tin-tied tongue, shedding light, shed it’s light

Conflagrating fire, burning flames within

Heat is rising; sky’s ablaze, blackening earth, searing skin

Waiting on salvation, praying, that this bug’s been tamed

Waiting for salvation, hoping it’ll end this infernal pain

Temperatures are rising; smokescreen’s filling frame

Hoping for a flashflood, a drowning man’s beckoned

Hoping for a flashflood, to quench the thirst this fire’s sprung

Praying for the rain to come, MAKE IT RAIN, MAKE IT RAIN

To wash away temptation, to alleviate the flames

To damper down the charring and drench the thirst we crave

Douse and spin, Douse and spin

Heaviest downpour, Ferocious wind

Takes away the fire, absolves us from the sin

All comes to a standstill, a silent time for all

Everything’s grown quiet, no motion, no more calls

But it only takes one spark to smolder

Just one drop to light another, to ignite and stir

The accelerant at play, erupting forth, riling up flame’s astray

All to burn and burn again—for mankind’s fire’s yet been slain

Facsimiles of Fortuitousness

Supine aciculate,

Shedding predilections over sentient epicenters,

Strychnine serenade,

Ushering in a dawn of density before a decentralized acropolis

Relegating potentate,

Lauding the sanctimonious hymns of byzantine tomorrows

Morose and incontinent,

The Aeronaut bleeds septets of inquisition from deep within

  

Conjugations repositioned,

Transmigrating into delicate Hyperboles of distraction

A Toreador amidst an otherwise hyped-up insubordinate,

Emancipates every proclamation of thoroughfare ever spun

Seeking the Longview…

     In the center of a sandstorm,

              Is never easier done than said

If Then, How?

Nervously shifting position—right knee atop left thigh, both feet pressed to the hardwoods ever lineated alibi, left sole in clear view to anyone entering from stage right

Towering clouds of charcoal tinted doubt strain in search of breathable space, dusting the passing terrain with an acceptable case for the brutality of an asthmatic too earnestly dismissed as having been too eagerly indulgent upon those panting displays of breath

Tangerine florets linger the walls above

Heavy feet scamper in now apparent direction

Leaving scuffmarks those below can feel, no matter

The sensitivity of that particularly unwashed face

Amass and hoard, we consume sparingly

Yet hold onto every shred, when it would have been too easily

Permissive to share, even an ounce of overage—One would have to wonder, if such generosity could exist, and if so, than what undiscovered aspects of the home might show.

If then, how?

Another Working Title

I may not have the answers

To many of life’s questions

Yet I do have the knowledge

That experience had suggested

I never cared much for

All those things I didn’t need

What I had was how things were

And how things are explained to be

I may not have the directions

To many of life’s immeasurable deceptions

Yet I do know,

That one-foot comes before the other

And regardless of which heel steps first

I always end where I’m meant to be

And where I’m meant to be,

Has always been with you next to me

Which Way Shelter Runs

Which way shelter runs,

Upon commencement of a settling sun,

Daggers drip of melting snow,

Twinge in texture, organically ambition grows,

From red tinted languor to spite filled rhetorical cries,

Interloping between mosaic thoughts and layered tears,

The posturing of this arrangement blurs the lines, lines you despise,

Multi-faceted illusions begin to creep,

A blend of power amidst a violet much too raw,

Wild antics on display, the disease is active, the strains are deep,

The key to secrets that you keep,

Repress the visions that you saw, repress them, repress them all,

Which way shelter runs,

Along the subdivisions of crooked roads,

Deep amongst the cluttered dark,

Tattered motions provide the spark,

From refuge to those who follow blindly,

The moldings of the framework are alarmingly disfigured,

When comparing kings and pawns,

And thus one difference between raven and swan,

The once awakened pretty creatures weep,

For one day soon awake you will from your sleep

It's Something Like...

Starting fresh,

                Reset every failure, you’ve endured

                Ignore each temptation, which allures

                Slam shut all the doors that refuse to close

The past will never completely wash away from who you are,

The breadth is overtly familiar, complete recall of direct memory,

Tiny fibers replicate within the soul, promoting strength in palate,

And Diversity in scope,

Its tapestry enables the mind to reconfigure, reorganize, reproduce,

And repopulate images, from the most unlikely source,

                Wash away your walls of painted indecision

                Choose the path of most resistance,

                Ignore instruction altogether, and try that thing you’ve always needed to,

Enlightenment,

                Atoms bouncing up and down

                Jumping synapse from gap to gap

                Designing unique perspectives each half-life

Everything you ever earned, simple and trite,

Every lesson ever learned, inconsequential, neither wrong nor right,

Shapes and Image changing tint on cue, a reoccupation of a limited history,

Expanding everything you thought you ever knew,

Irrationality is universal, boundless and uncontained,

 Like love, unconditional, impossible to explain,

Improbability becomes your roadmap, spontaneity your guide