But It Feels Like

Unimpressed stagnations sown
Into phases in the unknown,
Within the now that we own,
Intrusively intuited inside the intrinsic
Compulsion in a denaturing, extrinsic
Compulsory actions in that logic,
When it seemed as though
The only word she knew
Was no.

Advertisements

This Was Us

“One of my favorite scientists
Used an analogy to describe
Understanding, said it was ‘like scooping
Up some water, looking at the cup
And claiming there are no whales in the ocean.’”

“I can’t remember
If this was before or after, but
Approximately two years ago,
I knew, that I didn’t know
And that I wouldn’t still,
Even after having known once
Or twice.”

“Yes, well for myself
It had more to do
With the guarantee
Of conceptual persistences.”

“Well, didn’t that analogy
Actually pertain more to
Understanding the universe?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Defeatists

Conceptualizations that were once
Determined to have been enough
In emotionalizations of interconnected
Pieces of worded conversations
In the maladaptive, with pursed lips
They were altered in factorizations
In a reluctance in unsecured ram excrements
As defeatists reflected on messages in
Subjective experiences; those expectations,
Adaptations in the indiscernible
Subconsciousness, where the futureless
Is brought out from a hiding, nevertheless,
Conundrums supporting the furies’,
Cooing their unsupported theories
Primitively in generalized occurrences:
Crazies proclaiming, “you’re alright.”

His Swim

His toes curl tentatively at the edge,
His right leg lightly extends
Slightly behind him, toes bent at the line,
His straightened arms raise above
His head, his gaze; aimed,
His hands forming a triangular shape,
He dives, knowing, with an imperceptible shove,
Poisonous eels and electrical snakes
Swam in this glimmering cesspool lagoon,
Sans evidences in survivability rates,
Doubting the strain in listening to words
Spouting from warbling mouths
Swarming at gossip filled wakes,
Indicating partial information intended
To entertain his chances, however slim,
Invading territories of the serpentine,
Obscuring wisdoms for his own sake.

The Answers

Listening to past logistics,
Knowing necessities, while
Figuring future losses, some
It sings its lamenting song,
Exactifying oppositions, often in
Literary devices of how long
Kilometric advantages in these
Fiberized plastics would take to
Indicate answers at their broken
Extricated posts, in nacre tiles,
Namely, inside an ultimatum.

‘Til The Day

Weakly its heart beats
In a bed of millefiori beads,
After compassioned filled
Parties leave, feeling milled
Curvatures, lingering on the
Surface of imperfected finishings,
Near convoluted patterned seams,
Enveloped in insufficient dreams,
Comparable resurfacing niches
Mingled, evidently in teams,
When nothing was
Latent nor as it
Had seemed.

Their Little Fate

Androgynous fice, why, oh why, do you
Fastidiously run around in crazed circles
Listlessly starting twinkling fires, after the strain,
Of a patterned fanciful membrane,
Often turning your head erratically back,
Like frantic rodents scurrying on tracks,
Intently listening for oncoming trains,
Still liberated, inebriated tinkles
Hissing forth from your balancing act.