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”

Freestyling

Body on an axis, a plane all it’s own—

Vertebrae stacked, aligned,

Proportionate to the space above

And the depths below we hope never shall we know

One arm—let’s call it right—

Up and out, down and in—

Stretched and placed

Cutting through—

     While palm collides

Over coursing, invisibly aligned, the metacarpal shifts, turns, turns, turning,

     All the while returning in, unnerved yet unnoticeably misinformed…it’s only the observant eye, the kind that can catch the ghosts that live between and through the chasms of the breath…bearing a structure;

An angular procession; with pulling tension, culling

All about, contouring what connections

The body feels, as it does, until the cycle

Spurs parallel, another action pushing further,

Away, and out, delaying all that could have and may still become—a semicircular pattern; a crucible undone, leaving only milliseconds before the symbiosis shatters all the ills that never were, yet thought had been, completed sums…Shall we…begin again

HOW many breaths will you choose to take in between?

Infants Amongst Mortal Fabric

We are all and only infants amongst the veneers of mental fabric, attracting disassembly and partitioning expansions

Of cultivating emblems of character—

We’ve been bred as monsters, deliberate and persevering,

Ignorant of only the appetites we’ve supplanted as we whet the gullets-unyielding path towards gluttony

Significant atrocities are dissolved by wanton blindness and the coercive language used by those voices chaotically attuned—voices which have been and always shall remain, a reflection of the debasing melody born within

DESIST the purge and CALM the seas beneath your storms.

TREAD for relaxed states; exhilaration breathes a crisper version than what typically expands our wearied lungs

And in the midst of cacophony, upon the din of tumults, a smile still gleams it’s graceful vow—a promise made to a brittle child, one whose scowls surfeited the aperture of imagination—and herein, that child is revealed again, for portent dreams have a way of coming true…

Intuition

It’s that song drifting in your ear,

It’s the pattern swirling in your drink,

Where only you can see, only you can hear

You shake your head in disbelief,

You pinch yourself to spur relief,

Yet it won’t stop and it won’t end,

There’s no use in trying, no sense to pretend

Because no matter what it is that you think

There’s something more out there for you

And no matter what won’t disappear

One day soon, something better will appear

And the greatest thing of all, is that until you take the leap,

You’ll never know if it’s truth, in what your intuition speaks

Firecracker

Firecracker—soda pop—routine quenching of the mortal verb, Blissful bullet-points banter about the pre-pre-lingual pause—submerging aftertaste in the grandeur of the plunge

Addictive trinkets of euphoric punch—punctuating the blistered awakenings found atop the ridges of the bridge—where with it’s carbonated siege, all pleasures are revealed—as possible and real