Now He

Powerfully, a daemon chucks four out of five flaming shuriken
Towards cut out cardboard ducks of chalked up concentric rings
One, two, three, four– he
Dishes them out with the precision found within
The genus of trialed eclectic hours;
Harrowed efforts nullified by minds that don’t wish to see,
Flicking his wrists flagrantly
While gliding through the air effortlessly.

They, magically soluble, upon summoned powers
Melt into bucket shoals of water,
Soiling targetry, soppingly.

He, in possession of one last
Fiery water calling hidden dagger,
Yells in madcap epileptic obscurity,

“Bee-itcH! I now have your
Pathetic little life in my
Ridiculously good looking hands–
Do not fuck with me.”


Too Many

Cameras with angel wings grant us access
To footage from aerial angles in the aethereal sphere,
Circling round two players playing chess,
With their legs folded, on top a tufted circular bed
Bordered by ivory satin sheets that mimicked
Mosquito net canopies,
They’d sway dreamily,
Flapping gently in the oceanic breeze.
Pieces hastily given away by shortsightedness,
Where trust, built timelessly,
Was mistakenly misplaced inside a game.

A Goddess

Delirium grabs hold of impossibility’s cantabile
Variables that tumble in creativity’s commonalities. Ruing
Predictabilities; rephrased as: a seer that envisions, tango’s
Berating outcomes of battered up confectioned
Thoughts of the once believed innovations following
Ruptured beliefs in her humanistic form..

Because I’m pretty sure
She’s a goddess in its stead

Or something.


Righteousness, divinity; she was an embodiment. She saw a kind of warmth that even
Virtuous Shinto shrine like deities would not see; bursting enviously within those loci.
Yaking humours, she knew, unparalleled, not even by the jesters of the Fairy Plum
Inui; her court of the finest attendants that traversed across these cartographic acres
By Odin’s command. Pray, tell me, but speak quickly, why does such grace, grace a
Jagged wanderer by speaking to her? …Shut up, SHUT UP, here she comes! God, I luv
Xianshi, daughter of x and y, the mighty empress or queen. O, I’d die if she even glanced..
My God–could a mere peasant like me even dare to dream
Ludicrous fantasies. Undeserving to bend these knees, with an upkeep
Verily equivalent to those of dust, while she embodies the elements, really, truly–

Eyes, her eyes, just barely grazes..

In Love

It had been better to have believed
All events had occurred
In fictitious assemblance
Instead of hoping that the space shaman,
Of heightened decibel frequencies,
Had convincingly drawn up
A minutia
Of some intrinsic value
In our wisp’s existentiality.

Inundated within waterfalls,
Our frustrated wisp, beside
Itself, was swept away

Aliens are breathtaking
Aren’t they.

She Doesn’t Even Know

Miasmic forms blinkingly guide her
Through an interdimensional
Hall lined by portals,
Disguised as doors,
That led to variants in
Timelines unaccounted for.

These bouts of idolized madnesses
Despairingly rotating within discounted
Knowledges in centrifugal force
Were where sights
Were set up at
Certain heights promising
Disappearing floors.

Centripetal forces
Coerce her into a room,
Where she scanned the walls
For a clock
To tell her
That those jargon words
Had amassed to
Something of inherent value,
Where she was able
To feel yearning and yearned
To be held.

Where miasma lovers
Could have deigned
To have understood
Her angst in some other
Distant world.