Ill Fate

Ultrasonic curses eked a siege
inside mazes of elaborate pineries.

Inchoate developments, familiar, sustain
copious numbers, sitting, stationed, odiously,
outside frenzied sceneries. Vestibule
like entranceways indicate removed,
emblems and mystical runes; sedated
then swept away silently; ejections
whisked by incomprehensive eyes
by bewitching telekinetic waves.

“We must reclaim”, altruistically garnered
exclaims of shared wishes engendered, “okay”’s
in the hopelessness of the pusillanimous;
life’s threads binding inside subjective horticultures
of pathways blockaded in conjunction to projected
destines, picked, chosen; orifices decided twice..
nay, thrice.


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Nothing

A nightingale dives towards
mined florescent fluorite minerals
as it curtails its wings
to change its trajectorial line
to land on an approximated piece.

It twitters songs of glib connections,
with its eyes of inverted concaved florescence,
of the artificial and the natural,
of ludicrously unblinking lids.

A glass sphere of optical filters
emits ultraviolet illuminations
prior to the dusk and dawn
of one star and one fixture; redux.

While it would plead hopeful,
aghast, on this storied planet
of ridiculous magic tricks.


Delirium Manifest

From the malevolent delirium
Of salient vegetations
Of shiitake and collard greens,
Disciples stopped by emboldened slopes, steadfastly spiraling
Down past the convexing skyline of alkaline topaz blues.

While temperately examining hindering wild leeks,
Hunger’s visitation incurs the consumption of chinaberry fruits.
Booted racket-tails feed on lilac blossoms with a touch of pink,
Whilst the ones that ate, lay curling in angst against
The manifestations from the toxicities of golds.


At The Very Least

Premier appearances of rambunctious displays
Happened on a mid-summer’s day.
Disbelieving unctions of bellowing roars
Repeatedly flared across the horizon.
Red haired giant, Arcturus, Viking imperious,
Deliciously grotesque, of raging perfection,
Rammed into febrile doors of depleted joys.

Knowing walls withhold their beacons,
They’d babble in indiscernible foreign tongues about evaporating
Time frames, unquantifiable, immovable, harried.

His comeuppance in his palpable disinterest, undaunted.
Jaunts of rediscoveries reach passing fades,
Flickering, once in each new domain.

Mainland origins lost to history, eroded texts donned to still waters.
Solid matters announce his arrival of significance:
Minimal interest, the same.


In Our

Indecision, plotted improbabilities of Cartesian geometrics;
Issuable in galactic tides, misnomers collide inside granite walls.

Colloquies peck at ice sheets on barking, spuriously layered thickly.
Olfactories whiff dissipated scents, reminiscent of dewy must;
Oak – a working vocation of adventurous avocations,
Knitted scarves wrapped under melancholic chins;

Distastefully used ruses flushes our cheeks;
Remainders, who failed to utilize schematics:


I Was a

Aye, me mateys stolen to the watery frays
be gritting teeth from fears of past mistakes. They
strode with negligent gaits of transfigured reproach; now
stuck in the naiveté of movin’ luminescent semblances.

I’d be a watchin’
these motha fuckin’
landlubbers holdin’, dearly,
on for broke, so afraid
of a vast plunder,
denied by ya lily livered parleys-
Yeller bellies fraid to croak
down in the throes
of davy jones locker.

Aye, maybe they
be excused after fallin’
an’ crawlin’ back up from under,
gnarled an’ rattled,
after breezily leavin’
that topsy-turvy space.

Aye, mutineers plagued
by scurvy are given
lemons as aid; bit by bit,
as their eyes brightened;
yohoho, perhaps another drip.