Long Division: Strains Of One

Dainty figurines, collide-expand

Upon the altar, knotted-stained

For which they stand; warped and dated

Like the mores buried, still, straining to inhale

Knee-deep down, beside, within—

The Laundering of time pronounced, for without

Borrowed—procured ceramic, forgone—

As it is with the stuttering of art, from in,

Unknown qualities emerge, myths and absolutions

Laying bare before the mantles, and within

All illumine beneath each face it makes appear.

  “      Strength bemoans the martyr, as the power of fear, is concealed within each face before you here—those of strangers and Judases alike—whose stones are visibly clear, not in hand but in the discoloration within each their eyes”

Darkness Sheds Its Shade

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And darkness sheds its shade —

An immutable décor… of tragedy and ambiance—

Decorates the stairwells dry… in cautionary tales…

Resembling attitudes forlorn

An overzealous laundering—flashing fortnights tourniquet

free—sparkling stimuli—erecting variety from every creative creed…and unto the misanthropy…we gaze into the primal clutch…

the forbearance bred from what’s beneath…

cluttering the stairwells dream…of unattended phobias…

yet ignoring…the cadaver’s misaligning gleam…

It’s in such ambiguity, where forgetfulness casts its hollow net—

displacing the swoons of nonchalance…unto creatures of behavioral supremacy—arresting all the audits there…those that comingle, share…where soon, becomes more than a certainty to come

Of virtue and vigilance, a valor caged amidst a crystalline crypt…mesmerizing…blinding still…as (distortion) befriends the whispered air… where catastrophe drives forth its haunts… those miscreants toting barren shields…a precursor to one’s unbridled sarcophagus….sealed…slamming shut…the entombing rhythms to disrupt…the permitting raindrops, their preferential forgery…staying…etching upon…that which repeals too easily…ceasing timbres encased sleep… beating out the last…harmonious tracts of minutia’s pattering recline…

And darkness shed its shade once more…

To end their fall…

The reflection, in Gemini’s sympathetic mirage

To end their fall…

The albatross, in empty space, white as day, shackled yet disinteresting

Where the draper lays his nightstand for the eve…

And darkness reigns sublime…a superficial aplomb to climb…razor edged in sepia stain…conjuring the scars parade…rekindling the knotted root…ensnarling clasps pinching deep…into those crevices we shouldn’t keep…

And a fragrance of wood…burns…it is of once swift glance of this lost façade…embellishing all inherent charms of shame…brokerage of tapestries…every inch…but a myth…indicative of inhibitive indications….a temple of tragic appeal…

Exposed to a crustaceous arch of mortality…rendering it’s sharp pitch of chord...elongated dins to steel…bearing but a minimum of shrapnel once sent…out into the outer depths of perimeter…amongst the salacious personnel…forced sit tied unto misleading rationale…ne’er permitted the penitence behind

the truthful décor…within

A crimson blush is summoning,

Through interjectional accords…manipulating…manifolds of opiates…devouring the platitudes…into arrangements apropos 

To such delusional discourse

Seemingly, such verbiage, ecclesiastical in tone throughout…yet disjointed through the words of mouth…our secularity…mimetic contrivances…gambols about…a ricochet of omitted hand-scaled seams…that have…always been

Here, there and everywhere

Amongst the howling fay,

beneath the falling sun

our preeminence, here

obtains the thought contained within the

diverted tongue..

And behind the shade-less mesh

The scars, the scars catch… upon the thickets of whispers—no, the whispering cisterns…enticing our fluidity…even though…the dream has been deciphered naught…yet always…paving clear arteries…leas reserved for the emptiness we’ve always known…

And it is here, as well, where darkness sheds its shade,

For rapture secures no pleasure toward…a fate encouraged to permeate in manners scorn…however, one cannot change the motion gathered thus…without the confrontations you’ve interred deep below…

Persistent agonies must cede first its postulates…seek reformations…risk deliberate dishonor…before the shades

may wither away…

And pretend…to have disappeared…

as it is with all things pertaining to flesh…

[temporarily permanent…]

Head on over to D'Verse, Open Link Night is in full swing.  Check out all the amazing poetry, where every week, a wide variety of styles and themes are always on display.  And while you're there, link up a poem you wrote and share with the incredible poets of D'Verse 

Random drivel solidifying somehow

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Begin stream…

It's a quarter to six
mere moments before the
morning's light breaks its dawn
to be…and yet, the sandman
writhes in unsettled impatience…
the story of a man who cannot close up
shop for the night until the last straggler leaves…

carnivorously stoic in all regards
burnt sienna stumbling
stammering for applause

tea. kettle. steam. whistle. warning

"it is understood, when a properly placed
melody is interspersed with unseemly discourse,
the effect is of simultaneous rancor and appeal"

Vicious edges curtsied unto flesh
Ravenous outcomes curtailed…
and the idiomatic lingering revels
in the sound…of chaotic drenching
and inherent in the innate
varicosity of situational scarcity

Diphthong
tuning fork
pitching in
helping hands
assist. persist.
persuasion. …whence the oglers target feels the heat of radar

Antagonists are protagonists,
where the only difference
is the viewpoint of the
story told

No one believes they're born evil
and yet
I think, outside for certain types…the
inverted argument can
also quite easily be made

Sentinel. Pastry chef.
Dainties by a lakeside strophe

Zinfandel dreams
whose aromatic luxuries
are but untasted
elixirs, remedies to the
invigorations the senses
often reveal

steep. pour. sweeten. stir.
 watching as the cloud appears.

{A COURSE BETRAYED>…..INTEGRITY VIOLATED BY UNCONTROLLABLE IMAGE PRESENTATION…..THOUGHTS COERCING TONGUE TO SPEAK FROM PLACES UNKNOWN TO MERE BRAINWAVES…DRIFTING INTO COMATOSE…and yet, the unknown conventions speak their mind}

End. Stream...

Unrefined Opinions

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An indentation fixed upon

Those spliced agendas

         Too often ignored

By salutations bred in happenstance,

An uneasy gullet appears, stirring forth an awkward shuffling of

         Distracted feet

“I think I’ll have Chinese”

“sounds great…ooh, I’m

getting the California roll”

“uhh…ok”

Sometimes it’s best not to offer penance when there is not a scar to erase—

Sometimes it’s best to allow the errors come back naturally, rather than explaining away some insignificance…

Tell that to the Japanese….

Tempura right

Sake

Damn ignorance is like a jackknife into a pool of rocks

But, it’s an offense even the most cautious and

Deliberate must at some time defend—

         Which of course

Does not absolve the responsibility stirred

In restitution’s anti-trust…

         It most certainly doesn’t exonerate one from their bigotry, just because one was born that way, taught that way, only lived a life in an environment as such….for if it did

         Well then we’d wind up with too many jackasses on parade, evil so and so’s dancing about with equality’s severed head dangling from a blood soaked hand—

                                    And all of our disgust will swiftly wipe away with a singular flash of that mentos smile…glimmering in obnoxious pools of blissful unconsciousness

         Only to awake the next sunrise

Wondering where the throbbing brow was first born

         And when the recognition finally sifts the clues together, pasting the picture back to whole…the nausea hits

and overcompensation seems the natural recourse—which

will seem forced, be out of character, out of place—thusly

it’ll seem false—which, of course, it is…not the actions necessarily, but the motives behind them, and I sit here then, wondering, which type of bigotry is worse…

There’s no easy answer

Lengthy deliberation will

undoubtedly paint some foul

corners—and

sometimes, it’s just best

to shut up and seem cold and uncaring—

which, of course, you can write off as being afflicted by demons you’re trying to sort out, or you are going through a bad patch, depression has a hold on you, yadda yadda yadda, and the like, all viable reasons, but those ready to condemn you, don’t care about what got you to where you are, they just want someone, anyone to blame…they want a goat, so once again, they can be reassured when they look in the mirror—

an epiphany delivers

it’s message, loud and clear

         like a drop of blood

                  in a lake so clear….

Gaia Hypothesis

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A zephyr’s kiss, of gusts and gales,

slowly strips the suffocation

from a mid-march air

A cloistered cache, evinced

of polarizing vespers—found strung,

tied within a vanguards gate

Harbingers of a typecast trichotomy,

bred to enunciate meaning behind the

grammars, masticating upon wisdom eschewed

Angels laced in iron-wrought

spiral indecision, sidling tween

walls, vaults and seam

The cost an artist pays

endowing life unto each

his renderings

Lucid posterns—unhinged

by premeditative discrepancy—

release the encrusted panes

Onyx painted Oriels—jut in cantilever

supporting cornice and balcony

amassing all which jalousie would not let glow

II.

Where ravens spite elocution’s cause

smiting foundations teem in gaze, as

vociferates travail miasma’s stygian haze

Of beleaguered artisans—indentured

and accosted by, philosophies buried deep,

within the fissures of an unripe mind

Burnt by reactions—forepassed, bygone—

already in the apertures, ever-afflicted

by assiduous decline

Emotive assailants inaudibly defined,

by repeals bound asunder to both

infinite space and burrowed time

While piercing deep the flesh, simply to feel something,

newborn talons scar

what attrition’s left to be tamed—

And as the chasm sprawls, its untenable vortex

spreads wide and vast—until ouroboros forms first gasp;

 a beacon, indicating that soon, the future will become the past

A Provenance (Terrain Re-Formed)

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Acerbic stenographers astringe notations sharply—

alleviating bite, by renovating the acrid testimonials carved

to mind—honing gently the slashing song—where whispers carve forth

trenchant pleas—pallbearers to the instigating insinuations, guardians of the purulence, rife, when upon mordant lips, the secreting fixations of, yet, another reverence to those that blindly guide their steps of rote, allowing the innuendos, their latent stand, to the government that we know, have known, a priori, perchance, breaking spine over cragged vales, built from self-sustained flowing depositions, aqueous but not in water, instead, in the substance known as blood,

Anted up to and for, the ever-growing populous, prepared in sacrifice, delivered for the ever eluding but finally found, pluperfect fertile plots needed, by and for the contrition and rebirth of this, the endearing soliloquy, as alone, a foundation for what is formed and of what will always be, alive within the compositions housed up inside all the entities deeply affected by this dream, this dream defined as love. 

Like the sepal, a parent must fall and leave

once their bud breaks free

She came at him, as if she were the xiphoid, thrashing

wildly, ready to pierce, through wood, flesh or steel

Where Zurvan’s voice is lauded high

and translations proper scintillate the prophecy,

then time and fate are thus realized, not as

the enemy of mortality, but as constructs, devoid

of the emotional absentia of non-particulate cohesions of deign

Of which path proves to find, Quegh in hand, brim to lip, flushing, funding remedies to one’s thirsting space

aftertaste, falsetto’s straining cry, wryly crinkle the abased breath, curtailing to prometaphase—in which, as to where, affectivity submits fruition unto, those echoic wrests and culls anesthetized aware within—self producing vials of relaxation, grifts the flesh of its willful mastery, tranquilizing away all of tensions anti-gifts, paving forward the pathways to a pastel future’s beautifying provenance

Like the epigraph—attached to the blankest page, the one that oft arrives first, before introductions or indices, illuminate what journey borrowed words will play again—meaning staggers upon a skeptics skin—ever eager to prove the story’s premise is as was foretold, if only to eradicate doubt from the perusal within the crevices painting the walls of the minds many precious folds of fate and time.

Seashells on Sabbatical

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Rose scented memories linger

each strand of prose dangling

in balance

Daggers of unripe nectarine

permeate the pungency of

rhyme

Elemental miscues discovered on the eve

of validation

Abandoned moments materialize from the

thinnest of tinny air

The fragrance lives all about us everywhere

Time stalled the paralytic sentinel

from claiming the blissful cornet

Respites appear in slues of kindling’s blaze

ever forthcoming is Niacin’s flush to pasted skin

Blossoming it’s spreading tentacles, inching

from molecular balance to zygotic repeal

Always offering that which it never had to give

promising a loveliness not it’s own

Albeit ruse, decidedly fantasies of gullible deceit

are the temporality of such proportions, that

The incoming bursts of cyanide, were welcomed

and invited in, through windows cracked, allotting for floral appeal

Additional Lines:

Plausible dialectics wriggle amongst the unfit boards

pragmatically devising the instruments aromatization

Lessening the distance between forgettable paradigms

and hoaxes built in the guising of mass conceal

If not for the parabolas of suffocation, the seashells on sabbatical, would never have separated, from its inherent tide and squall 

Jarring Doorjambs

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Ajar, the entry ways

elicit—spur the aching beds

of confessions seen within

The jagged frenzy spawned from staggered rhythms—pattern astringed fables of fates depraved—where the singular act of concealment—hide all our disjointed nightmares and vacancies—in a place reserved for and then burrowed deep within the individuality found apportioned by steps of dance—vagrantly strolling—through   windswept corridors and disheveled halls—

where lost landings rise—and then fall,

unto vantage points sustained in the tunes crafted from the

notes the shivering abandons there and then—

Appalling squalors build—by the bannisters of

Deconstruction, its every essence

filtrates throughout each the unspoken commonalities—

where untethered chains assist the binding spells

procured

Garrisons and sentries

mark the gated sequencing—as

clotted entities plead their mournful songs

unfit for proper speech—and without an inkling of reprieve,

they bleed out in drips that seep, suffocating slow—and all of this finds its reasoning built squarely upon the foundations of echoes cast long before—where through the means of unknown strands, causalities appear, cuff linking you, out and because of the strange heredity that somehow pulses through your frayed and feeble artistry—and this all came to be pronounced, out of your very own predilection toward loyalty and all the renderings one such world view could suggest—where condensation bubbles from

deep within the internally prohibitive valves—locked, forever

upon the distinct flavorings forged by the self-reverential hands of  nepotistic pontification

Brackets are built, succinctly to stop-gap

the harrowing appeals of misaligned and

decentralizing forces—and are brokered solely to quell the flaring

distempers, too oftentimes layered in and by prideful construction—

Calamity, gagged by kerosene soaked tattered cloth—

stuffed deep into the gaping wound ever only offering

festering appeal

Fade for me my darkened dreamscape—as

no longer am I able to collect your escalating

fares—

         What once piqued the disgruntled interests of

a wayward child, has since grown apostrophized in it’s ever

soiling stirs that blend contaminating sediments into

thickening waves, where the necromancy of gelidness broods

afoul—leaving the composition unrecognizable—allotting only scars remain in view—sorted indiscriminately within loosely sealed mason jars that settle too near the shelving’s ledge