Centralized Scarring (Hallucination Postscript Vision Three)

I. Naming Rights

Amaranthine,

Secrets evade

The specters

Voice it craves

Bliss,

Upon shade,

Symbiotic in

Assent

Sigil,

In amnestic form

Anesthetize

Origins betrayed

II. The Honor Amongst Corridors

Alone, amidst the shadowed blister of an apocryphally setting moon,

I cling, for comfort, in wagered animus, hoping for deception.  As the eyes of spectral fire overrides each sequacious lie.  Every desired duplicitous reach, to run or scurry free—from self-sustaining hypotenuses, is bred solely by anxious corridoritry.  And, only the dream alone can reconfigure such a plot, into benevolent symmetry purged from knot. 

Tenuous is the string stretched long. 

Without relaxed ability,

The honing of a forge,

Is satiated neither nor.

III.  The Winged Flight of Forgotten Salt

A wing, alar, built by man, flutters, in discombobulated reality, stuttering the ridge of wind, searching for a gale, a gale to guide it in. 

Segmented, like the annelid, I scrawl, the cemented pave, oblivious, to the light, annealing down.

It only takes four hours

For utopian idealism to drown

Yet

Within the

Oblong white

A song is held,

Familiar,

Yet estranged from preconceptions yet to come

Prosaic containment amidst battle scars—

Perfect is its rhythm—

Pristine animator,

Of precision’s quest,

Trailing the vespers coffered, still

Amongst the spackled sky,

Dreaming of terminal cessation,

Yet visions heed desire naught,

Awakened is the evensong

And hence

Pragmatagnosia rejoins the dwindled day

IV. A Lioness upons a jackal clan

Soon the syllogistic chain

Grows circular in frame

The beast bows neck

If daggers draw…

But

Then,

At moment’s blight,

The sheltered sun’s repaid,

By catechesis’ illustrative light

V. Summa

It takes but an hour

For fragrant lucidity

To cede distraught

Tethered to—

The physiology of the mind

The sails, then breathe,

Exhale to float,

Away,

Upon seas,

Where prisms pleasantly distort

The absolute from salt

Tethering—

Every inch of line,

Along it’s wave,

And so we drift….

Omphalos is nigh

Omphalus has left

Dark Tranquility

Dark Tranquility

Instilled unto virgin eyes

Forward vision blurred

Slander masquerade

Disguises take many shapes

Hobbled by design

Little wish

Atop silver mounds

Shining bright

Bandoliers

Sneaking dreams breaking

Promises

In fluctuation

As stars dim appeal

Dark tranquility

Exported forward from one

Split decision tree

Creeping across spring

Awaiting discourse of love

Dominions of sway

Whisking aftermaths into

Shuddering tonality

Silencing

Scenario streams

Blank pages

Portuguese

Man of

War

Shell Game

I am just a shell,

Of who I was, once before,

Which in itself, was a shell too,

Of the man I could have always been,

To think of all I could have done,

All I could have accomplished then,

And the possibilities I’m not doing now,

A bitter regret as it first goes down,

Nausea blended with uneasiness,

Followed by an overwhelming,

Polarizing urge to change,

And I’ll feel good, while the feelings fresh and new,

But soon the warranty will expire,

And I’ll go back to doing what I do best,

Stagnancy and procrastination,

As the new found arc travels

From regret to desire to afterthought

And back to regret one more time,

All my life I’ve hunt and pecked,

For that slightest etch,

A life altering epiphany,

Some free flowing cosmic offering,

But now as it stands before me,

Staring, begging, encouraging,

I pause, I quake,

I sweat and shake,

I wait, I delay,

I approach then stop,

A nervous, delirious response,

I’m right there, and yet I’m still here,

Immobile and In hesitation,

Can’t disappoint, can’t make mistakes,

 If you forgo action and walk away,

Step to step, fully knowing,

The hands would move too fast,

But nonetheless help I wouldn’t ask,

I’d know the answer, yet I’d second guess myself,

And wind up choosing the empty shell

Self-Absorbed

Clinging on to memories is no way to push forward,

Remembering times shared and happy thoughts

Cannot forge a trail or alter whatever is next to come,

Reflections on past glories

Is no way to soothe the sting

Created from rejections taking place in the present

Tense I am, soaked and cold,

Trying my best to numb away the negative

With so many I don’t knows,

Answers are good and fine

But only work when you unite a question to its side

Without understanding

Without direction

You’re left standing

Without attraction

To those things you need the most

Looking in the mirror

Is a terrible Idea

When you cannot remember

The face you see

May look ugly, may terrify you

Distortion

I know the formula

I have a plan

Yet reasons pass me

As to who it was that said I can,

It’s all so simple, it really is,

When permission’s granted

Deviate and disagree if so you must,

Someone, sometime you’ll have to trust,

Truth must be told to tell your tale

But told too often it shall grow stale

With each word misplaced,

A distortion is embraced

Blind I was but now I can flee

That those lies told are seen catching

At first the convulsions made me laugh

But now I hide from its growing path