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?

I am or am I

I wanted
To see
How close
We would get
To the future
He foretold.

I wanted
To explore
The world
That existed
Between us.
Even if
There would
Always be
Other options.
I wanted
To witness
His magnificence,
His imperfections,
His nature,
In person.

It didn’t matter
When he said he’d let me down,
That was something I expected.
But I only partially believed him
When he said
I’d regret

“She’s a lunatic”
They whisper.

I am a heretic
For believing,
For pleading,
Through prayer
Hoping this love
Could have existed,
Or am I
Nothing more
A disillusioned
Fanatic stalker.

The Reasons

Chasing what has been deemed
To be nothing more than
Dreams, illusions, magic,
To insanity, I lost
Time used up
Searching for a love
Which never existed
Falsified belief
Story of ever after
Excused culpable behavior
Never in occurrence
Followed ambiguous directions
Unbestowed cryptic messages
In a fearsome life lived
By paranoia fueled threats
Losing grip on basis
Based on importance
Neglecting other duties
I needed to tend
To darkness in allowance
In devastation to devour
Watched the untimely death
To the sovereign state
Of being to non-existence
Losing pride, drive, perseverance
In areas necessary to progress.

Out of the things I’ve lost
In this whorling vortex
Of remorse and regret
From the whence
The catalyst did spark
Losing you
Was the greatest cost.

Even as I write this
I still think of