Wicked Archetype Of The Apathetically Free

Abdominals inches from torn

Every swish of acid repositioned

Bury the leads of a thousand tempests

Breeding amidst the sunset of a phoenix in descent

Guttural individuation, primal, raw, unembellished, bare—

Cultural subterfuge, colander spaces submitting to hoar

Spreading vice-typecast as villainous hate mongers, pre-polarized with venomous stares…

Are the vile objects that surround your person, truly the vermin your eyes project them to be?

     Perhaps they truly are the enemy; quite possibly your instinct is correct, yet, one must be somewhat curious, to realize what ramifications lay in waiting, ready to pounce upon your horizons, the precious moment, their heirs prove your imagination false?

Scavenger of the people, envisioning bass tones created from an instrument entirely human in composition.

Delicate rapture, cast amongst a cabernet of excitement…I’m

Shocked to find, so many aligned to witness the end…

Broken Template Rendered Quarantine

As the quartz hourglass defines its prey, quarantine’s in masquerade—Dominoes of translucence follow, then fade,

Portraying the crux of the wherewithal, primordially available prior to the blisters ceded control upon the coarse estrangement built sequentially by the brazened blade—

Within, lives the corridor, a gentrified expression of what still stands, the erector set compounding ammunition detail amidst the sword-swallowers delineating the scales of would-have-been and shall-not-be. Diminutions seethe in fallacy.

Anguished portals to suspect realms hover in influential admonishment, paralyzing virtue through its severed layers of involvement—a condition piquing the curiosity of the cloaked abandoner—twisting in wrathful formations, writhing, incessantly ravaging the promise in which the sworn premise vowed to apprehend. A broken template of scarred vexations

Teardrops stain the mahogany—biting nail files, awakening the disenfranchisement of the communal strands—standards plummet when balance is plundered by the most unnecessary contamination—a scourge flourishing from beneath this existential tenderness.

   

Soidisant

Incognito

Summer names

Tags to stage

Self-referential naming rights

Epithets are a characterizing word or phrase

Epitaphs are words etched on one’s grave

But monikers assumed can swiftly assume

The nomenclatures we once used

Titles are names revered by some

Handles are worn in having fun

Labels are used to describe

The contents of that which lives inside

         However false the terminology

         The impression given is made upon thee

         Assigned by one, reaching many

Videlicet

Scilicet

         Namely a pseudonym inscribed to you

II.

Denominations span in size

Ranging from the forcibly ascribed

To the self-defined

         Aliases and nom de plumes

From the nom de guerre to the anonyms we fear

Rephrasing our allonyms into inciting cognomens

Has significance to those familial sobriquets

openly worn

as these anonymously

titular appellations

quickly absorb

appearance

        

so craftily designed,

so intricately alluring

Are these entangled terms

Words, we keep reusing

And consumed we can become

Forgetfully frail, amnesiac and

Growing weak at the nee

In managing our integrity identity

when also knowns

fit more aptly

than those

contrived names

parentally bestowed

        

The Masthead

Label me an infant

label me a fool

do not trust the anarchist

preaching about rules

label me a scapegoat

label me a tool

do not dam the floodgates

lest inside they form a pool

label me a train-wreck

label me as blind

its good to poke holes in theory

so truth can breathe in time

call me what you like

call me what you don’t

it doesn’t matter to me;

I’ve learned to laugh at all your jokes

labels are scattered; they’re thrown around

labels are but words; always lost, but never found

they have no bearing; they play no role

in who I am, to what I do

they have no influence; they have not a say

as to what fate finds in store for me

your words fall deaf, meaningless and weak

never providing the satisfaction that you seek

your words bring pain to others, highlighting their many scars

but you should be reflecting, as to where the damage starts

your words are but a mere transference

of what you’ve been and where and who you are

sticks and stones…if it appeases you…

just know…that for each judgment cast

I’ll shed a tear in prayer for you—

Forever using those labels as my mast

Be sure to head on over to D'verse for Open Link Night.  The doors open up in just a few short minutes. Starting at 3pm the poetry is always fresh on tap. And while you're there, share a poem of your own. Cheers.