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.
There comes moments
When every current doesn’t matter,
When truth extends its atoms
Across the racing expanse,
Where divisions of perception
Suddenly become united.
I stand below
On a tiny hovering island
Inside a bottomless space,
Trying to peer over
From far below the horizon
To catch senses of our home
On a disturbing distant land,
But instead, I’m catching
The wind furiously blowing,
The sound of thunderous flow,
The darkness underneath,
Of the cost of gravity
Idly, I sit on a carousel,
Watching the world spin
In rudimentary patterns.
As embryonic tethers
Of feathered monuments
Flail in the wind.
The weight of bouldered physics
Heavily maintained on shoulders
Promise inevitable collapse.
Manipulative appraisals of blame.
While definitive decisions
Were made by disconnected bodies.
Which statuesque hand
Carried the weight of
Preemptively decided factors
When adorned repetitive
Processes chose paths
That severed connections.
Volitive redundancies for the sake
Of preferred lettered emanation.
Is the quasi-stagnation of happiness
An invalid motivational pinion
For what you’d call the calculus
Of your archetypal scheming mind.
Does another’s broken wings
Surmount to nothing
More than obsolete passion.
Is there no other road in which
Your wicked heart can travel.
The words you spelled on these pages
About how your love was undying;
Feathery words that held no weight,
As your prophecy of never
Comes to fruition.
Folded into dreams of alien communication,
As one of the best and worst things
That have happened in my life
And then I smile.
And then I weep,
As I am reminded
By one of the reasons
I love you,
Wilting stalks of love, hate, hope
Strengthen after it rains.
Cautionary winds of revisioned history
Forebode emergent growth.
Snarling, forbidding further discoveries
Of separate realities.
Febrile folds wrinkle, baring ivory
Fangs gnashing at all that is imaginary.
Wanton wiles that flew in waves of hilarity,
Binding me as the sole wielder of liability.
Such ridiculous accusations
Surely can’t exist.