Fickle Nights Unadorned

Aural pleasures span the darkest caverns,

Unearthing scenes dispatched to furthest nooks recessed beyond the transcriptions filtered in mundane,

Blind to tumults spawned by inconvenience spared, the watch spins in sternward approbation, coveting a valance oft ignored, tempering uneven folds with carcasses of lost oases

Curdled regurgitation spindles up the larynx cold, smothering voice with misplaced improprieties, discourse measured in startling degrees—calculations that once seemed so grand, retrospectively tense at the thought of invisibility shunning predication

Feral codes bewildered through mismanaged indiscretion, cultured by the harbingers of satiety, wilting pomades and soft-etchings embedded superficially upon the iris of the third eye,

Focus has been condemned

To a hazy retro-gradated piercing

Born from unsubstantial illumination,

Built beneath the corroded buttresses deemed unfit for the staging of this or any other…emptying out

This theatre with handbills piled at the door.

I haven't written anything in quite sometime, but found this on a notepad I wrote a while back and thought I'd post it. 

Synchronized Utopian Idyll

It was a dynamic inquisition,

Without a single word misspoken,

It was a dynamic synchronization,

Where not a word went unspoken,

                       Inspiration doused me full,

                       Caressed me and kept me still,

                       Drenched head to toe,

                       But in the end, not a soul would even know

It was a dynamic inquisition,

Without those awkward moments of intervention,

Not an abstraction spun; not a vice untouched,

It was a masterful interjection,

Where only a pause disconnected being from breathing

Where only the pause separated hear from here,

As time progressed

I felt red to have previously guessed

Things would’ve gone differently than they would,

Thinking there’d be an intense transition

As I waited for the lies to come

     But they never came, nor ever could

     Not a lining torn or a truth made of elastic

     It was the deepest of revelations

     As each question produced an answer,

     Where each sound to slip away beneath parched tongue,

     The more it continued, a voiceless man I therein became

And you somehow understood, you somehow understood things about me, that even I couldn’t comprehend

        

                  To have been given so much respect

                  From someone I could not have ever known

                  To have been treated like an equal,

                  From someone filled with so much devotion

                  Giving me the honor of unparalleled recognition

                  Those words, those words—

Could only serve as stones—thrown

Across such stillness—skipping forever on and on and on—

Until we each found our Om

In whatever it was

That circumstance just happened to have

In this space most precariously spun.

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

Stasis (Ephemerality)

There is no such thing as time.

Never-ending.  Never-beginning.

Always There.  Ever and Ever more.

What is now, is also then and that is also what has been.

{Cue the neat opening credit theme music.  Something that gets the audience in a particular type of mood, say unexpectedness, something that preps them for what’s to follow, and we want them to think that the future is profound and deep…if only to eventually slap them across the head with what comes next} 

But of course, only if what comes next is

Something that’s happened since.

Of The Eye

Eyes awaken,

Right first, then left,

Stardust clinging to the lashes,

Refusing to concede

That wondrous moment was but dream

Leaving me alone

Comforted only by the memory

That this is all but a part of reality