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.

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.

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.

Embraced in Dream Beds

I sit
With the light switches
Turned down.
I count
For every 1.5 seconds.
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten.
I watch my eyes slowly adjust
As blackness fades
Just a little
From vision
As I listen
To the music
You listened to
Last night
And I feel
I almost feel
Like you are close
Like I could touch.
Like you said once
In moving images
Of us
Embraced
In dream beds.

Most of Human Kind

The one who dreams weeps
While the dubious churn.

The dreamer hears
In remorse
Poignant nocturnes
Reflecting love
In distant halos
Of moonlit moans
Of the transgressent.

The dubious learns
The trickery
Of snake oil grifters;
Reviewing portentous proceeds,
Hacking away at what was imaginary,
As proxies fly through the heavens
Altering reality.

While the soul recognises
What should be realistically
For most of human kind.

Breathe.

Straighten your back.

Breathe in slowly
Fill up your lungs.

Hold it in space
Feel it encased.

Steady exhale
Into the air.

Listen intently
To the pulsating rhythm.

Follow the beat.

Return your attention
Back to the music.
Revert your tempo
Back to prime
Measures perfect
Time; Restart.

Breathe.

Do it once more.

It will be okay
Pain will subside.

Dreams’ll be forgotten.

Breathe.