The Connection Between A Rhythm and a Stare

 A floe of Gypsy temptation,

     Thinly skims the apex of the surface,

A slue of dull possession,

     Swiftly spinning from it’s stance

There is a collection of delineation,

     An elementary beguilement in askance

There is a sidling of salvation,

     An impropriety of sauntering proportions

Agog, too eager

     To enliven the mirage that blindly

Inhibits the colluding prescriptions that

Control the signatories of sight

                 

Within the wherewithal of sanity,

Exists a microcosmic spasm,

Infatuated by impossibility and the relics of its kind,

Where, if not attended to, imagination may run amok—

And become rampant, writhing to the contagions of such designs

And in premature conclusion, I must declare, that there’s a curious delusion—a connection between a rhythm and a stare

**************************************************

I was very honored and privileged to have been interviewed by the very talented Laurie Kolp for this week's Pretzels & Bullfights Spotlight at D'Verse.  I'd really appreciate it if you could swing by and read the interview and learn a little bit more about little old me.  And yeah, she even made me sound really interesting:)  All kidding aside though, she really did a tremendous job with the questions and putting the post together. 

On that note, I'd just like to take the time to send, A big thank you to Laurie and to D'verse for hosting such a great series and of course, for thinking highly enough of me and my work to shine the spotlight on me this week.

  

In Gelatinous Space

listen to ‘In Gelatinous Space’ on Audioboo

Of confitures sealing in the sweet

marmalade’s enduring quest for the conservancy

and the prompting of deliquesce—urging forth a fluctuation, setting still degrees of cogency—in thaw, until only trickling liquidity is left

It’s like the world’s been doused at first

and then drowned as its movement’s been rehearsed

And here, you find your entirety’s been smothered in pectin,

sluggishly plodding limbs throughout, the coagulating terrain

to which the self stirs silently about

Perspectives alter

as once steadfast points of view

diminish then dissolve, deteriorating

in the hesitancy you’re flailing within

Perspectives vary—from the numb to the decayed

stewards of thought, dream, surrender, then dream again,

seemingly all a part of something apportioned someplace that’s ever been above and beyond the ideals instilled by mortal hands

Ordnances are found, and in such hidden estates, we locate the

weaponry we’d forfeited many days ago

Preponderances accumulate in algid states

where what was deemed luxurious not long before

it stares you down, evangelizing the integral salience,

that’s always been deferred, yet never ceded its importance

to the very game you’ve claimed to, if not tame, then at least to have trained

Sludge, slag within coulees of expansive sight

oozing, seeping through scoria, basally encapsulating the prism’s light

arms, legs with their passions cooled

by embalmed gelatinous masks of glazing drook

ingratiating oneself to such confounded states of reality

wriggling, jiggling, writhing still, in a glistening sense of dream

porridge-like moments, inspiring deflation and its merry bands

of stagnant clans, coiling then collapsing, around, within, stifling drive and

breeding a yearning, for a solidity ever-after permanent in its stability

Bubbling becomes ever fixated upon the stories of escapade

dripping frozen space in timeless states of catatonic embrace

beyond the lips, chilling illustrations impart their never thawing

artistry—formed at the point of first gasp, forever indicating the escutcheons detailed embodiment of gelid finality