Our State

Reigning through astral planes,
Labradorite arrow heads
Directly mined from morpho mines, of
Plastered shafts with augmented porcelains
Painted in glossy black mediums, and
Fletchings of ebony razor blades of
Plastic vane extensions, conjoined.

Labradorescences flashing iridescent
Blues, violets, pinks and golds at
Submicroscopic spheres. While
Spectrolite scarcities dramatically
Reel in those dimensionalities.

Theories of quick sand spaces
Moving in unthinkable speeds,
We pray on those points above;
Lights seen through semiopaques;
Muted mustards and darkened grays,
While he contorts our realties.


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This

She smoothes down her shirt,
Hands clenched on tattered
Threads begging for alms in
The middle of the expressway
Where blurs of motor vehicles
Pass by in celerity, as imminent
Gossamer webs of sordidity
From forsaken reticences within
Contorted visions by liaisons
Whimsically snapped threads in volition.

Denouements acting as reminders of
Glitches in this system.

What We Chose

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,
Salve.

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.

Music Exists

Modulations of variant frequencies
In cellular flesh matter proportions
In questionable allocations;
Of the soul’s displacement,
Or the mind’s location,
To the point of disdain,
In listening to vain chatter
Of words discerned
Or lost in the ether.

Especially when
Music
Or information
Exists
As an alternative.

Pretending to be Blind

They come in orbits
Of discarded eye sockets
Of cauterised bleeding runs;
Silent pleas of morbidity.
Plagues of infected victims
Leading lonely loveless lives
Simultaneously scream sardonically.
Vitals vieled vicariously
Through thorough theatrics
Of obvious oblique offenses
Taken from lines of informality.

While the forces of projectile
Vomit spray chunked particles
Of intent, sown in cautioned words,
Disregarded or seen as flexible,
Discontented perforated holes
Miss infrared tracking missiles
Locked on to no beginnings;
Guarded walls of inflexibility;
That hateful order.

Stained hands keeping
It in its trajectory,
Pretending to be blind
To the possibilities.

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.