It Clicks


 

Can you explain
The scales that consecutively run
To those that cannot sense it.

Our vision that pales;
His, hers, and mine,
In the faces of sophists.

Then dewy inklings
Of feathered proofs lapse
By subsequent engineering
In uncounted droplets
On tympanic shields
From deciphers felt.

Breathless moments buried;
Dissonant reverberations
Diminishing;
Things I
Use to
Savor.

Twinkles

Discounted meteor showers;
Sightings sorely missed in time lapses
Due to restricted circumstances.

Fickle shutter speeds
Opening and closing;
Intentions in aperatures of
Distorted isometric patterns.
Adversity’s worthiness
In illusions of craters by asteroid
Impacts of miscalculated velocities
For actual disintergrating deterioration
Of meteoric debris.

How I wonder,
How many glowing trails
Sparkled and fell, and their locations,
And how they may have never
Existed
At all.

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.

Script

In excerpts of Baudelaire
And portions of Blake’s supposed prophesies
I witness the possible origins
Of words you once had beautifully sown
In lines of supposedly earnest cacophonies.
As daily berating recollections
Of fluted notes of black and white
Lines and curvatures of symbols
In faulty imprinted flashes
Denote the extricated data
In compressions of glossy words
That were lost in monitor screens.

Whorls of possible glances of the possible
Origination of verses act as caustic reminders
Of the beautiful mechanisms of what remains
As the undiscovered mind.
As the mental cogs of my own
Can only visualise
The script at
The end.

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.

Hay Strand Memoirs

In fitful frenzy, instinctively trying
To grasp at predetermined disappearances
While knowing every location
Her soul resided in
Vanished.
Gone.
From perception.

A gust of wind knocks over
A dwindling light from an oil lamp
Igniting hay strand memoirs,
Warping hazes of should have been
Euphoric possible divisions
To impending impossibilities,
Consecutively
Distort contorting images
In flickering reservoirs
Of flaming memories
Slickly licking, creeping
Up a load bearing beam.
Crackling filaments disperse,
Gritting embers singe and then
Helplessly drift in stagnant atmospheric pressure
While another woven strand
Burns and turns to dust.

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.

But
Even as I write this
I still think of