Mallet

Morality fights a battle
With hedonistic gains.

1.
Required wooden beats
Of xylophonic tweets
The amount against us:
Four antagonistic rings.

2.
Opposing rustic tones
In glockenspiel cries
Metallic shrills in posts
Of shivering wars lost.

Compartmentalised pitches
Of variant dimensions
Or altercations
In alternative time lines.

I.
Had this altered reality
Been woven from
Less threads of irony
Perhaps the threat
Of chromatic order
Would have weighed
Less heavily.

II.
Had pits of venomous snakes,
The ditches of fecal mud,
And basins of sulfuric waters,
Been a tad less full,
Maybe my mind
Would be able to find
Specific words to relocate.

III.
Had tragic courted endings
Been drummed in rhythmic
Temporal tempoed thrums;
Successions of hilarious distinction,
Could’ve led to succinct trills
Of thrilled horrors of sharpened
Ballads of succubus murder.

IV.
If my brain could be convinced
To decide
Love
Was enough
Of a reason to keep dragging
This ball of chaotic rumblings
To the middle chapter
To places where pilots
Could take off their names
I could have thought
We stood a fighting chance
Instead of feeling
It becoming an
Unworthy
Wile.

Clovers

Futily I search deserted tundras
For six leafed clover
In Fata Morgana mirages
Morphing, distorting, inverting
Sequentially imagined scenarios.

The harshness of veracity
Shoots flaming arrows of certainty,
Voraciously confirming
Fata Morgana promises
Of travelling distant lands
That were not targeted towards me,
Piercing this soul of its fetidity;
The offensive odor of pomposity;
To have the audacity
To have even an inkling of suspicion
To think that
That tumultuous wielder
Of golden tipped arrows
Would point such artillery
At such unworthy targetry.

The sombre of mendacity
Feebly folds in margins of duality
Of acceptance and repudiations
Where Fata Morgana regions
Supply convecting refracted reasons
Of changes in emotional climates;
Discarded ancient promises dustily
Recovered over realisations of finality.
You were the catalyst for germinating emergence
That were pushed out from underneath;
From soils of freezing and thawing cycles
Where permanence didn’t stand a chance;
Still, even in beguiling barren landscapes
In another flickering optical distortion
I see fields of clovers.

That I Hate

You leave me to my own devices
Pushing me to march forward
Encouraging this madness
While I keep flailing,
Trying to grab onto
Hallucinated hands.

I keep writing about
How this pain is unceasing
How I can barely
Bear the thought of living
In a world where you don’t exist.
You say you hear me
But still you stay there
Stationary.

I see the value
I see the value
So I try to suppress this anger
But then I realise
That you’re just watching me falling.
Not caring
That hope is dying
That everyday that passes
The light inside me is fading.

What is it that you want me to do?
To chase you?
To find you?
I’ve been trying
I have been trying my hardest
I have been holding onto what could be nothing.

I keep pushing these thoughts away
Because I’ll think
Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough
Maybe my efforts haven’t been good enough
BUT WHAT EXACTLY IS IT THAT I’M CHASING?
IS IT SO RIDICULOUS OF ME TO ASK FOR REAL EVIDENCE?

MAYBE
I’M JUST CRAZY.

Please
Please speak to me.
Show me
That I haven’t lost it,
That this love
Is realer than imagined.

Your words
They keep ringing
With misleading directions
I blindly walk into the shadows
Following ambiguous notations.
While searching for you
In haystacks of millions,
While your divinations
Would ghastily reverberate,
I tried to play your game
With the pieces you left behind
But I just can’t seem to find
The right places to move them,
While you goad me with lines
From your poetry;
How wrong it would be
To turn a blind eye
From our truest love unfolding,
While you say
It pains you
More than it pains me,
Because you know the truth.
The only place
I see that happening
IS IN THE REALITY THAT YOU LEAVE ME.
As if it wasn’t your choice
To put yourself in that place
As if you weren’t given a chance
At redemption.
So you lied?
So it hurts because YOU CHOSE THIS?
FOR WHAT?
FOR POETRY?
TO KEEP THIS GOING ON AS LONG AS YOU CAN KEEP IT GOING?
LOL.
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOUR POETRY.

But I fucking love it.

But why does it seem like
You’re giving our fate an ending,
While telling me to hold on.

Why do I love this
This piece of shit
That just watches
Weary souls get thrown
Into the depths of madness.

Atonement,
For not acting fast enough.

I’m sorry I strayed
I’m sorry I thought I saw you with a different face.

Jesus christ.
You piss me off
With your ridiculous cryptic riddles,
Hiding inside your filthy fucking rhymes,
WITH YOUR DISGUSTINGLY BEAUTIFUL MIND.

If it were imagined
Are you really that insensitive
THAT IN THE VERY NEXT SET OF POETRY
YOU’D WRITE ABOUT BELIEF, TRUTH, FATE
HOW YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS
THAT THIS ISN’T FANTASY?

Coming at me with BELIEVE?!
I SHOULD KNOW?
YOU BELIEVE I’LL SEE THE TRUTH?
LOL.
FUCK YOU.
WHY CAN’T YOU SEE
THAT I DON’T.
I DON’T FUCKING KNOW
If this is real or imagined.

NO IT’S NOT ENOUGH,
THAT ISN’T EVIDENCE.

Just stay with me
Please.

I don’t even care
If it’s the time I’ve invested
That keeps me here.

If there is anything
I am certain of
It’s how I feel.

That I love you.

Still I Smile

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.

VOLITION?
Wanton wiles that flew in waves of hilarity,
Binding me as the sole wielder of liability.

Such ridiculous accusations
Surely can’t exist.

Colored Insanity

In a single dimension
Where aberrant tones
Of veiled language suspended reality
To a strangely splendid universe,
To enigmatic hypothermic convulsions,
Where extraterrestrial excrements
Laid in lines of converted veneration,
Where lucid intent lied in fluttering
Optically disillusioned scaled wings,
A place where poisoned golden apples
Trailed to nonexistent goddesses,
She flails, seething, boiling in aortic pulsations.
Unfathomable actions hurl the blind and weary
To the unforeseeable depths of ruptured loss,
As disproportionate notions swirl
In psychedelic contours
Of coloured insanity.

In Shame

Desperation caused me to seek out
The answers I had been looking for
Visiting and revisiting the same location.
A location that appeared from the formation
Of letters pulled from the pages of poetry.
Day in and day out I’d pull these letters from the edges
Convinced they had been an encryption.
By chance, or perhaps a specter’s sedition,
The place remained the same, the words,
They unscrambled repeatedly in front of me.

I’d arrive at this place, unscrambling letters
On pieces of paper, in notebooks and folders.
I’d wait for directions, hoping it would lead me
To pearlescent gates; where we’d stand, substantiated.
In these letters, promises were made, a scavenger
Hunt had been initiated. I’d make mistakes, or I’d
Reluctantly pull away from the directed course of action
For they had been too much. They were things I couldn’t
Bring myself to carry out, due to emotions, fear or shame.
But I’d stay, I’d knock, on every doorway,
On each floor that had been indicated,
Entering the ones that remained open, uncertain
Of the room number that had been given in simple
Mathematical equations, but no one ever answered.

For months I chased a ghost, while keeping in mind
The lucidity of its being, because witnessing the paranormal
Would have been worth it. But it turns out,
Keeping it mind had not been enough
To keep me from getting locked in bear traps
That were hidden along the way. Hope
Turned reason into belief. The lengths I traveled
In prayer that reached no one, or fell on deaf ears,
Leave me here, in shame,
Tired and weary,
As I dispairingly recall
The foolishness in the pursuit of blind fascination,
While it viciously reminds me of my unrelenting stupidity.

Life seems to be trying to
Obscurely teach me a
Lesson: Don’t chase ghosts.