Dialectical Improprieties (The Razing Of The Kaleidoscope)

Bludgeoning the pursuit

Parabola in disrepute

Lies, shills, burning through

Core amendments digress

Upon a lot of all things hirsute

Every day problems magnify with poverty

Every illness is a damning edict, a death

Sentence, when you cannot medicate, a

Torment to live in such an infernal state

Aspect telemetry

A vision of Gethsemane

Hypnogogic resumes

Bio-energetic mediums

Served cold by flustering hypocrisies

Wretched septet

Barbarian bee

Caustic diadem

Procurer of persistently consistent migraine economies

Tamping down what could have been

In some other facet, convoluted by and then stirred to ease digestive properties…. wistful preoccupations or

Another enduring scapular placed upon

The neck bone of an otherwise removed staple of productivity

Robe—unworthy

For these genes—

False representative to the sea—

Waving to the minions below,

Bellowing inconsiderately

At his entourage, who cast

The vain impression, that

They are far above the

Polities of repressiveness

Forced frenetic scapegoat cur

Born of a plebe with better bite than bark

Star-Howl-Moon-Hollow

Kindred kiss,

Like kissing yourself, but better, much, much better

Kismet is stolen

Fate is betrothed to the enemy of wherewithal

And the bushes are on fire,

The damn bushes are on fire…again…what the…

Coalesce in my arms

Heal as my aura rebuilds you as you were,

Perfect, in ever sense

And if you choose to live—indeed it’s life you’ll have—

Free of debt, there’ll be no chains, no entitlements, no

Rigors latched to blame, no dirty shackles constraining flow,

Nothing, nothing like that at all…just free, forever free, to go as far or near, as high or low, whenever, wherever—even if those places don’t include me

And if you choose to die—I will grieve so much; the tears will smother the ceilings with their ebbs and tides…

Abstract Suspect

There’s a guttural feeling beneath the calumet

A grinding halt to the ritual

Smiles hasten into frowns

And I feel bad for the one that pushed the bell

There’s a howling suspicion in the wind

A fading superstition that lingers in

Laissez-faire or Bourgeoisie,

Accommodations of catastrophe

Serendipitous dilemmas and

Sanctions breaking down,

By the sharks of this town, inflicting…

Surface wounds and

Surfeit shells,

Discrepancies and songs,

Songs we’ve got to know, ills we’ve learned all too well

Syncopation, spin and spin

Whiskey, Rye, Tonic, Gin and Gin

Serengeti nights be told, of the hours spent in a Saharan cold—broken for feverish decals, labeled carelessly on the backs of rickshaws, spider-webs and dropouts from bartender schools that advertise in the back of free papers you find at late night taco shops or seedy, shady, drowsed out jazz clubs—

Never acknowledge those that deliver the news

Sometimes they’re the devil in the messenger’s shoes

And sometimes they’re simply the leftovers that the cat dragged out…that someone else has yet been buried in the correct position, currently vacant, way out in left field.

SIN

SKIN

SINking

In

Abstract

Suspect

Fragment From A Masquerade

Red ribbons clutter the scene,

From lanai to balcony

Yet still,

I can see,

Even though,

I choose not to believe

Kabuki flags defile dreams of old,

Through the seams they politely latch onto,

All things lost and never seen

Yet…

     A dream so cold,

     Needs only an ounce of fuel

     To direct the oars of a future worth possessing 

Obscurious

Outsource your diatribe

For thirty cents an hour

Alleviate your condition(s)

With extended well-sprung

Pantomimic shows of her

Gratify your suspect

Coin-dance lair of tricky

Coddle the park bench

As the soft hands lay with me

Pour the milky function

Straight from it’s tap,

A bovine beauty known

Colloquially as “nominal bessy-jane”

Driven to succeed, despite your every attempt to fault your wrist—

Backgammon supersets of clustered polarity and inner-thought

Conformity, are but symptoms

Of a mantra…much larger than anything built by hand

Easy solvency

The easy out

Forget what it is, of which people talk about

Forge a path, all your own, from individualized stylistics and obsessive push

And if so, if be it strikes the kindling right

Your spark will be belittled from all those

Irreverent sheepling eyes—copy, ape

Polecat thief…(but) won’t make a difference, as to what those carbons think…cause when you strip away the dye and tasty tinge from flavored milk…its still milk….it still comes from cows…unless it doesn’t…

Strap the vine

Squeezing ink

Into cup…

Drink.  Drink. Slurp, sip…(and) there’s a

Little bit of red still lingering upon the right portion of the smile’s curve

“That’s ok, will taste better when the purity’s been earned”  and I think (outloud) “?”

Toss the leopard in her cage

Dig up the scaffolding beneath well-behaved cadavers sleeping, in suits, in suits so many could use to make a first impression, much more civic, much more human.  BURY THE DEAD AS THEY CAME TO BE,  Let the cloth alone, let it the F(#@ alone

…and the fragments of neuroses simmered.. still

I could feel the asthmatic truncated air.  Stale. Dimmed (and)…

Forcibly (entering

Calm)

“Boy I sure could need the calm of rest” some voice inside me dressed the space with, that middling, meddlesome, bead (lets) of sweet, sweet, sweat and decaying decanters of decadence…

Before the next elixir in geltab coats arrives to play,,,

Steering wheel

Abracadabra

Drive me

Drive creation forward

In some whacked out expletively laden flash-bomb emotive carcinogenic shell of amnesiatic afterthought in-glow

Hop open the trove unearthed… Bless the tomorrow UNREHEARSED

…and the ground, or floor, or whatever polity that you dear term— where soles lay to rest, when not under the weight of homosapienated duress— started feeling awfully tedious from the too, too frequent tapping, of toes…nervous, nervous, little toes.

In the kitchen nook…

Piggy-back pork-cut loins, lathered in balsamic vinegar, afloat in boiling 450 degrees or some temperature unbecoming to the flesh of swine.  Hunger pains, far too great…(starting to bawl) outloud.  The Carrots, co-companions of this soon-to-be-eaten, danced in an orange glaze, as would be done, by any number of underqualified synchronized swimmers, caught in some sort, of Halloween Fete-like celebratory soiree, where showing off is mandated…so I guess a dip in the lake of water dyed pumpkin, or vice versa (matters naught) would have had to do.

…and then, the pill’s orgasm clicked, as personified by that first warm sweat originating from the just under hairline mark and the ocular tendency of flashing those pearly blood-shot whites, unbroken yet.  But soon, very soon…the tributaries will expand/expunge…the light—slowly stretching light from distinction, slowly providing an opinion on their irritation’s cure…Sleep…well deserved.

I outsourced my diatribe

To some other me

My condition has not alleviated

But at present, I don’t care

For I feel nothing.

…doo doo doo deedle dee doo doo do.