Debased Curricular

Knowledge lends stability to an ever-changing landscape,

Time is the agitator to the unprepared, the devolving attributor to the weak and for those without direction.

Life seems to do everything in its power to swallow the meanderers amongst us.  The lessons it offers are of a curriculum set out to debase.  From the smallest to the largest, minutia is simplistically inhabitable.

Ignorance suffers plague like the painted womb cringes when left alone with murals too bright. Intelligence slow-dances every inch of pier, prior to its descent, information bleeds out, ironically in patterned abbreviations otherwise known as the scars of a once tainted submarine.

Falter freely. Smile as widely as the jaw allows. Dream to fail, and then dream some more. Desire only truth that’s earned.

Do so before time wears thin. Stay patient; do not stray.

The bristles deliver the deepest caress. It scours impurity away from even the most ironbound of wired flesh. Breathe freely; fade away…but try your damnedest to reciprocate.

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.

A Song for Immature Savants

Draconian devils in a pristine shell

amenable shills in a damning hell

predators and parasites

vagabonds to guttersnipes

adulators; sycophants

prime movers and those who can’t

Dressed up, candor in a scarf divine

red sails stir, cloaking past

the silicone and fiberglass

timing’s early, hours late,

pursing fourth’s, contracting fate

                                                      words sung with a torrid force

You want a story

open your eyes

you want drama

fight; survive

you want a hero

that I can’t provide

Mosaics and masquerades

promenades and palisades

chardonnay smiles and bourgeois tears

contemptible intentions reflecting fear

nesting cretin’s scar the pleat

(dilettantes (poor Faberge)) eggless and incomplete

Dressed down, guile to spine, slick corset veiling lines

black-toed, shin to heel, flaming skirt, striking fast

high slit thigh, low draped neck, a fire-flash

breaking down, broken in,

the radio’s deafening, silent din

                                             and we begin again

You want a story

open your eyes

you want drama

fight; survive

you want a hero

that I can’t provide

no, that is something

only you can breathe,

that is, if in yourself,

you choose to believe

  

Insight buried in a box of dust

Relinquish power,

cede control,

abolish apprehension

of everything unknown.

Tension writhes in fear

It’s leaves wither in despair

over a coming cloud, that is

told to be of foreign origin, has been

foretold to bring the swirling whirls

of disruption and the wrenching

gusts of disturbance,

that distances the warmth above

away from the barren vacancy

existing below,

it provides a commonplace, one unlike

what most had ever grown accustomed

to seeing, to breathing in, something so strange

and wonderful, you ponder it’s meaning, and

amateurishly chart its probability of having been

created from heaven or heathen

and this borderline somehow

offers a tingling sense of desire,

a curiosity, an anticipation, an uncanny

combustion of fire—waylaid in its dormancy

while all the while impatience shrugs

it’s vengeful neck, from which the body heats

to an ungodly burn—painting thoughts, color

and emotion in an increasingly frantic harness

of terrible twos at thirty-eight, transforming

the pleasure of the new, into the jaded askew—

and so the grey floods the freeway with the oil upon a seemingly gentle feathered brush.

And so charcoal dances, always is, dancing in the distance, waiting for the dry-erase wipe of pleasure.  Anticipating conditioning will coil in the way it always does, and bleak ennui shall once again fill the ever-combative attention span of the what’s next to break societal view.

and it’s in this fledgling composition, where

wisdom could grow to be unlike anything

we had ever known.  But sadly, patience and savor

is not encoded within.

But the composition accumulates its dust-filled coat,

wearing it like a badge of honor, understanding it is

but a statement of the current time, knowing, knowing

that one day, a hand shall wipe clean the dusty frame,

and there, in that moment, these eyes will truly see,

the wonder and importance of what lies beneath.

Knowledge and Logic Walk Into a Bar...

Pyrotechnics

Flames profound

Instrumental

Sounds surround

Linguistic

Words abound

Paradoxical

Worlds allowed

Scientific

Strands alone

Knowledge

The breadth of form

Technical

Codes are found

Rotational

Spits turn round

Vertical

Ups and downs

Logic

And where it takes me

Radical

Shields erect

Rationale

Teasing tricks

Symphonic

Harmonies in bliss

Seasonal

Spirits align

Knowledge

Abreast in form

A Flux In-Tempo

Tempests squirm over banshee wind,

Flux in tempo, sad escape

Giants worth demonetarized

Fluctuating between the you and the should be

Toggling above, below the encapsulated swelter

The shading, gradating ratio of dysfunctional distress,

Together with germination, pollination and confused iteration,

They forge a gulley, eroded by stench and stealth,

Birthed in demented plurality, askew to visions that compare, albeit slightly, to an amalgam’s spell,

Fostering diffused delight, via transmissions to and from an interferon’s interfering consistency

Embark towards ventures we go, of impossible requite and sleepless dreams

Theories and theology, sifting dust from rotting ability, from ink and sweat a quests begun,

Stretching across sinew’s conformity, forth into forever arching factorials,

Generating clutch hypothesis while grazing arboretum’s fields of reflective brush,

Ravenous diviners come and spout, where output is plenty yet offerings never enough,

So in disguise the vapors disseminate themselves

Elation, deflating from depressed sedation of a mind unknown,

Arousing complexity throughout the legions, kneeling in systemic disbelief,

Gyrations flushing contemplations of irritated states of rhyme, fluency

Exaggerated in polemic standoffish prayers for parametric release,

A crash cart has long since been, on notice, against whitened wall,

As the triage awaits your date of arrival