Breakdown Pt. 4

Opposing the occident, cardinal directions without reproof,
Heuristically allow wills to break, bend, and collide.

Conundrums in hesitances; considerations to review
Neutered rules, conceptually placed, to protect.

Bipedal packs descend flat specs on comprehensive isogriv
Charts with disregard, despite astute attempts voiced;
Warnings glossed over, but some would entertain
Nuanced gains, for they’d claim, “what’s the harm.”

Fickle impulsivities dabble in a part of a focused improv
Trace, dispersing algae particles that, eventually, transformed into snakes.


Breakdown Pt. 3

Hapless trumpets from mechanic bulls dozing, were a
Perception devoid of haptic feedback that was so oddly
Within scapes of timelessness, nonetheless; ways of earthy
Yards enticingly expanding sequin symbolisms by organic formulas.

Brightly, she observes, “Can you feel the weight? Stimuli
Receptors are picking up their magnificence on resonance feeds.”
“They’re dangerous. Can’t have too much caution in significance.”
Wearily, he postulates, brushing away imagined consequences.
“Dissociative responses should be displayed on your cornea.”
“Yes, they’re there. But their temperament classification is neutral.”

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.


Within the pages of a story, I
Dreamt about immaculate things;
Just these beautiful translucencies,
Where you’d fuse yourself through
Discolored doors of ADD’s ineffabilities.

Dishonesties suffused inside grandiosities,
Those inflections cattily self-inflicted,
Where you’d be the favored frequency,
Within these conflagrating pages,
Starting freshly chaptered scenes.

This recurring question:
Prone to impressions,
Were we.


Surrounded by garden bed planets
Daisy dazedly tends to
Tiny worlds, barely built, orbiting
Daisy’s parameters.

Distracted by arbitrary baubles
Daisy travels through voids,
Desperately, to capture
The belief of rarified mediums,
Giving value to matter
That was of no worth.

Granted access to these ornaments
That fate determined as purpose;
Daisy’s dumb ass bauble
Became Daisy’s world.


They rollerblade
Through the complexities of space tunnels
Fabricated by hypothetical schools
Made to be lengthy tests
Where time seemed to be
Made into trivialities of diagnostic schemes.

Brightly lit neon signs
Blurring past attentive notations,
Below, above and around them,
Numerous characters indicative of the inferential and descriptive,
However small or large, in essence
Released from impossibilities.

Her voice heard in the distance;
Words meekly hissing through apologues;
Probabilities subjected to a sentence;
Seeking narratives of an iota allocated
To venerated yields of unities.


If we had chosen
The lane with least resistance
Where would we be now?

On an endless winding road
Where you mystically stand,
Was it a plea I heard in passing?

Does this complete track
Hold hidden fragments
Of souls silent torrents?

Or is that imagined?

And are you
Too blind and deaf
To see and hear
That beauty doesn’t exist
Outside of you
Even if they may be
Stuttering nightmares?

Why do we think
We caught a glance
Of a distorted smile
In vapourised grimace?