Xyloid skinned with a crown of leaves, a hypochondriac
Tinkers, huffing on a countryside, with a cracked sink,
Repeating riveting silvered words while musing, to reap,
Hoarsely sowing soils with a miniature hoe so that
Quarantined red lunarias would get sent to a suq,
Demonizing unregistered impossibilities for sex,
Kitted together for a hefty sum for another iffy tranq
When baseless claims from the self-proclaimed sang
I watch her gladly staring
At the verdant colored night sky,
I say something, something I can’t remember,
In essence, it was supposedly along the lines
Of, “Do you know what it feels like?”
I entertained divergent possibilities
Was reached inside a chateau
Or maybe it had not been breached
As it seemed she couldn’t hear anything
As she had not given a reply.
It was then she turned to me
And asked, “Perchance you enjoyed
Our gregarious play with firecrackers?”
When neither of us had ever
Even purchased any.
At a loss for words
I held her close (breathing
In her favorite scent), since
I didn’t know how to tell her,
Every single time,
It had only happened
Within her gangrene memories.
Opposing the occident, cardinal directions without reproof,
Heuristically allow wills to break, bend, and collide.
Conundrums in hesitances; considerations to review
Neutered rules, conceptually placed, to protect.
Bipedal packs descend flat specs on comprehensive isogriv
Charts with disregard, despite astute attempts voiced;
Warnings glossed over, but some would entertain
Nuanced gains, for they’d claim, “what’s the harm.”
Fickle impulsivities dabble in a part of a focused improv
Trace, dispersing algae particles that, eventually, transformed into snakes.
Hapless trumpets from mechanic bulls dozing, were a
Perception devoid of haptic feedback that was so oddly
Within scapes of timelessness, nonetheless; ways of earthy
Yards enticingly expanding sequin symbolisms by organic formulas.
Brightly, she observes, “Can you feel the weight? Stimuli
Receptors are picking up their magnificence on resonance feeds.”
“They’re dangerous. Can’t have too much caution in significance.”
Wearily, he postulates, brushing away imagined consequences.
“Dissociative responses should be displayed on your cornea.”
“Yes, they’re there. But their temperament classification is neutral.”
“Which imported ants were delivered on
Rotator tracts with that attractive tact?”
“What do you mean by ‘attractive’?”
“‘Twas by a rundown moor,
Displayed with ample room,
Where sunlight slivers, around noon,
Lit them just right. No..on
The dawn it was, of the first light,
Where. Lately, those just born canines,
You know.. how they venture far into cave margins
To stab many a bats in their domicile
To feast on their still pulsating hearts.”
“Huuu.. this feels more like a mood
That is closer to a dreamlike doom,
Rather than something nice. I might
Be losing some sleep from this tonight”,
He frowns slightly, not trying to hide his discomfort.
“Christ. You can fucking call them puppies, if that helps.”
Touching the door under a canopy, mute,
Worn out from hazards in spaces
Where they oft handled hardware, as the poser thought to himself
..even though I know it won’t.
Delicate neon tetras drift and
Turn against eons of ageless
Softer flows where rocky sands
Happened to weigh less.
Randy air bubbles float
Right amongst each other
Where illusive equatorial borders
Foretold all that they wrote
Then the floras essences
Disappeared when the weather
Grew cold. Phosphorescences
Strewn in streams, clearer
Than anything else, then,
With time, indubitably glowed.
“Ugh. Remind me how butterflies used to fly Dev.”
Reinforced banter takes practice in chat rooms for
Krypton fluorescences, as bellies would dance, zirconia
Zygotes took form on a forum of sought out decorum
“List them then”, they persistently said. A kind of voice, stiff,
Interlaced with hesitances responds, “They were—pft. As if.”