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.

Straight Through Most

There comes moments
When every current doesn’t matter,
When truth extends its atoms
Across the racing expanse,
Where divisions of perception
Suddenly become united.

I stand below
Waterfalls encircling
On a tiny hovering island
Inside a bottomless space,
Trying to peer over
From far below the horizon
To catch senses of our home
On a disturbing distant land,

But instead, I’m catching
The wind furiously blowing,
The sound of thunderous flow,
The darkness underneath,
Of the cost of gravity
Weighed heavily.

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.