Something's Hidden

Away from the wrested stone

A jewel etches its image upon

Juxtaposition

Where it was and what it never could

Be, to fathom’s length, I bestow

Whistled meanderings, delivered far, unto

A crested portico of everlasting sights unknown

The fantasy’s off-balance whereas

The congruency paints vivid premonition

Vacating the probable,

Forever residing

scarcely in-between

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”

Shoulder Of The Road

I’m at the shoulder of the road,

Meters past the vibratory bumps,

Inching towards,

Where the wheels and lamps align,

Sidled up, parallel as can be,

Beside the painted lines,

Under the lamps that hang,

And here,

Where gravel and grass unite

I watch the flash of life speed by

The eyes focus as long as they may,

Until either the darkness overtakes the

Landscape, or another pirates my line of sight

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

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…