With out stretched appendages
Saviors of dark, nacreous, steely
With a touch of burnt sienna,
With clawed joints basically stacked
To bladed finger tips,
Placed the thinnest transparent fractals
Of prewritten swishing pages; bits
Robotic eyes had thoroughly processed.
Marred chances that were or were not
Purposefully digitized or replaced spells,
Recovered consumed watts that sparked movement;
Gears, whirring with a sort of mechanical precision,
Incised brittle fibers of glasses or
Were forcibly thrown into informants for
The sake of their imaginative needle games.
Where would we be
If we’d never noticed the vaporous rippling surface
Or crossed from this timeline to the other dimension.
If we had not overcome our fear of triple point waters
Or mistimed the opening from the moon’s reflection.
Was the cost
Of the chase
Of no import,
Do these letters
Fail to support
Time as unwasted
For a muse now
While the effluvium
Of her solidity escapes
Into wells of hopes that lie
In dormant chases
Of the moon’s reflection.
Reflections of mangled confidences
In incandescent words
Of inevitable losses
Those who sought redemption
From repudiated horrors
Of untimely hours
In muted reveries;
Vaporized voices of intangibilities.
Airtight metal doors locked;
Unresponsive to patterned codes
Of likely misconstrued rhetorics;
Of queasily relinquished prides;
In quizzical encumbrances
In unrequited diminishing vortices.
Anthropomorphically weighed physics
Of bleakly styled truths
Or exquisitely chiseled fallacies.
Where comforted comorbidities
Of mythological redundancies
And existential deities,
Spouting extrications of love’s yearnings
Hopelessly behind those locked doors
In layered inquiries of reality, prophecies
And connected scales of measured precisions
Of ethically disapproved pursuits;
Pierced valves of barely perceived incisions.
Here’s a secret,
Morality is whatever I wanted it to be.
What were the chances.
I thought them high;
High enough to
Search through monuments
Without a map to guide,
Building babbling towers
Towards the heavens,
Wading in waterfall fountains
Of penniless coin tosses
Or was that chance
Worth all this.
Friend or foe,
I can’t seem to tell.
Wavering heart entrances,
Shields in steadfast motion;
Barricades of rhythmic paces;
Steadily we march,
After bypassing defenses
In bare nakedness
In lines of verses
With spears pointed
At those with chances.