An underdressed Elvish Kissandra hidden
In the oak lands, sings her fortuitous odes.
She strums her harp, her hands plucking
Melodious tones as they glide to and fro
In scales that petrify our egos senselessly.
Tripping in a weakened state, she slakes
Her treacherous bloodlust with a stake,
Crudely made, rapturously laughs, then
Appears to run with dislocated joints,
Deeply plunging it into our necks.
Listen, to the wanton sound of their trembling truths.
Hear the horns of heralded valor in epidemic proportions
Within befuddled songs of angelic ideations, satiating
Thirsts of longings in acquittals inside these time lapses.
Exalted inflections in layers of tertiary
Inclinations of secondary stout devotees,
Fiercely quell and repudiate in primaries.
Thralls enthralled in flamboyant sparks
Hilariously slithering in verminous mucks
Lest these wiles inhumanely slyly smile,
Sown in gnawing leaps of worth; diminished,
Yammer within negated syncopated beats.
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;
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.
As an alternative.
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
With the light switches
For every 1.5 seconds.
I watch my eyes slowly adjust
As blackness fades
Just a little
As I listen
To the music
You listened to
And I feel
I almost feel
Like you are close
Like I could touch.
Like you said once
In moving images
In dream beds.